


Together

by edema_ruh



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anaphylaxis, Angry Dancing, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Enjolras, Arguing, Awkwardness, Blood, Blushing, Blushing Enjolras, Breaking Up & Making Up, But this is mostly fluffy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cutesy, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Dorks in Love, Drinking, Drunk Enjolras, Drunken Confessions, El Tango De Roxanne, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Gunshot Wounds, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hospitals, Jealous Enjolras, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Up, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, Protest Gone Wrong, Protests, Rally gone wrong, Sad Enjolras, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Slurs, Social Anxiety, Tango, Temporary Character Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unresolved Romantic Tension, and so much fluff on the second one, so. much. blushing, there is so much angst on the first chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 195,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8188129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edema_ruh/pseuds/edema_ruh
Summary: Someone tries to kill Enjolras. Grantaire dies to save him.The guilt Enjolras feels is unlike anything he had ever felt before. He had never been very close to Grantaire, or at least not the same type of close he was with the other Amis. And yet, the resident cynic's loss is more unbearable than Enjolras would have ever imagined. He was supposed to protect his people. He was supposed to protect his friends.But then one day he wakes up, and Grantaire is alive. Which was supposed to be a great, marvellous thing, really, only if it wasn't for the countdown clock glued to Enjolras' nightstand.Or, the one where Grantaire dies, and Enjolras is granted 30 more days by his side before he loses him forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags, folks! :-)

                As always, it was supposed to be amazing but it all went to hell pretty quickly.

                The protest had been being planned by Enjolras and the Amis for a long time, and it took nearly two months of organization before everything was perfectly settled. The stage from which Enjolras would deliver his speech was small, and only had enough space for himself and the sound equipment. The other Amis would watch from below, from the midst of the crowd, and somehow Grantaire felt a little bit better about that, a bit less jealous. Though he felt safer when Enjolras had someone beside him on the stage, he knew that he would never get to be that someone. He knew that Enjolras would never trust him enough to let him be his right hand man, and honestly, why would Grantaire ever want to take that position? He had nothing to add to the cause or to Enjolras’ life; the only thing he had to give was his love, and Enjolras was too busy being in love with his Patria to care about Grantaire’s petty feelings.

                The square in which the speech would be delivered before the protest begun was rather small, but the public they were expecting to attend was of around five hundred people. It wasn’t too big of a protest, but it was their biggest yet. Enjolras was very proud of his group for managing to attract so many new people to their cause, and proud of himself for being the one chosen to deliver the speech, even though all the Amis knew that no one would ever be able to do it as well as their leader. Enjolras was a natural public speaker, which was funny, considered the fact that he was socially anxious. Give Enjolras a crowd and he can make the people rise and warm several hearts; give Enjolras a single person he isn’t familiar with and he becomes a blushing, stuttering mess. Grantaire found that astonishing, if not cute.

                And now he was watching Enjolras from below, as he always did – that’s where he belongs, isn’t it? Enjolras belongs high in a pedestal, while Grantaire belongs right below him, watching from afar, close enough to see him but never to reach him. He looked beautiful, though – the day was beautiful. The sky was of a deep, blue tone that only spring days could offer, birds were chirping in the distance, the weather was hot but not comfortably so, and only a few, scattered clouds tinged the sky. Enjolras’ hair was tied into a messy bun on the top of his head, but when illuminated by the sun, a few awry strands of hair made his head look like it was surrounded by an ethereal halo. He looked godlier than ever, his straight port and firm voice making the public around Grantaire stir with agreement and excitement. He spoke words of justice and righteous anger, wetting his rosy lips briefly with every phrase. Grantaire barely noticed that he was gaping at Enjolras, heart beating fast inside his chest. He loved him so much. Enjolras was everything to him, and even though he didn’t believe in anything, he could find it in his heart to believe in Enjolras.

                But as Enjolras’ speech grew longer and the public’s excitement grew bigger, Grantaire noticed that there was something wrong. People started pushing and the crowd started fidgeting; there was someone somewhere behind Grantaire trying to raise trouble. Combeferre was somewhere to the cynic’s left, but as he searched for him, Grantaire couldn’t find the man, or Courfeyrac, or Bahorel. He couldn’t see any familiar faces, and looking up, he could see Enjolras’ confidence falter for the briefest of seconds before he regained his composure and continued speaking as if there was nothing wrong.

                And then hate-filled shouting and aggressive slurs started being thrown by scarce, scattered people around the crowd, and Grantaire looked behind his shoulder in awe, surprised. That wasn’t supposed to happen, it was a peaceful protest –

                A gunshot rung across the square and people immediately started to scream and run to all directions, trying to escape from a danger that nobody knew where was coming from. The police surrounding the crowd came into action immediately, trying to disperse the crowd with gas bombs and pepper spray, even though the gunshot was reason enough for the people to try and get away. Grantaire wasted no time into trying to find any of the Amis, as worried as he was about them – his first priority was Enjolras, the most exposed of them all, being on the top of the stage as he was. He pushed his way through the crowd and basically ran to the stairs that led to the stage, eyes madly darting in a frantic search for Enjolras. From the top of the stairs, he spotted Combeferre, stuck in the middle of the crowd, half of his face covered in blood and punching a man that was trying to throw him on the ground. Grantaire’s head turned abruptly when he heard a sound coming from behind him, on the stage, and his brow furrowed into a frown when he realized that Enjolras was trying to turn his megaphone back on, kneeling on the floor.

                “Enjolras, what the hell are you doing?” Grantaire approached him, shouting so that he could be heard over the screaming mess that the crowd had become.

                “I can calm them down, all I need to do is turn this on”, Enjolras explained without even looking up at Grantaire, eyes fixed on the object on his trembling hands.

                “Are you mad? This is over, you can’t calm them down!”, Grantaire yelled, flinching hard when the loud sound of a gas bomb going off echoed across the square. “We need to get the hell out of here!”, he insisted, grabbing hold of Enjolras’ arm and pulling it. Enjolras shrugged away from the touch.

                “No, I can do this!” Enjolras protested, finally raising his head so that he could look at Grantaire. His eyes were frightened but he looked fierce as ever. Grantaire found himself lost for words. “I can do this ok?”, he repeated, voice lower this time.

                “Enjolras, you can’t”, Grantaire shook his head.

                “God, can you just stop being such a cynic and believe me for once?!” Enjolras shouted, annoyed. He went back to trying to turn the megaphone on, when Grantaire heard someone frantically shouting his name from the crowd. Walking to the edge of the stage and coughing at the cloud of pepper spray that was starting to rise and scatter through the air, Grantaire spotted a panting Courfeyrac supporting an injured Combeferre and waving madly at him, trying to catch his attention.

                “Get Enjolras away from here!”, he was yelling, managing to dodge a punch that was thrown at him. “Get him out of here!”, he repeated, before he disappeared from Grantaire’s sight. The cynic turned his back, seeing that Enjolras had thrown the megaphone away and was trying to be heard over the sound of screaming. It was useless. He could barely be heard by Grantaire at all, let alone by the frantic people trying to escape.

                “Enjolras, let’s go!”, Grantaire instructed, grabbing hold of his arm again and not letting go this time. “It’s over, let’s go!”

                Another gunshot echoed, and both Grantaire and Enjolras flinched at the same time.

                “Enjolras, there’s nothing you can do!”, Grantaire pulled him closer so that they could look each other in the eye. Enjolras’s gaze danced across Grantaire’s face, trying to find something that he couldn’t understand. Grantaire tugged at his arm once more. “I believe in you, ok? But this is over. We need to go, there’s nothing you can do!”

                Enjolras hesitated, looking conflicted.

                “Enjolras!” Grantaire urged. Enjolras spared the cloudy mess of people in front of them a sad look before biting his lower lip and nodding briefly, turning his intense gaze back at Grantaire. The cynic wasted no time. Intertwining his fingers with Enjolras’ – this would have made his stomach fill with butterflies and his heart beat faster, were them in any other situation –, he dragged the leader with him to the back of the stage so that they could leave the square from behind. He helped Enjolras down the makeshift stairs and followed him closely, hands clinging tightly to each other’s. The back of the stage was slightly less full of people, which meant the pair managed to run side by side.

                All Grantaire could focus on was Enjolras’ hand clutched into his, the sound of his own breathing and the impact of his feet against the concrete with every other step. The sound of screaming and gas bombs going off got further and further away, and Grantaire thought that he could hear his own heartbeat. He even dared to look to his left as he ran and spare a look at Enjolras, whose cheeks were flushed red and whose lips were parted in exhaustion. He gave the leader a crooked smirk, trying to reassure him, and Enjolras, for once, returned it, a silent, subtle thank you appearing in his eyes.

                And then Grantaire saw a man standing several meters behind Enjolras’ running form, and he was raising his outstretched arm to the level of his chest, and there was some very familiar shape being held by his hand –

                Grantaire only had milliseconds to compute what was about to happen. And before the man could shoot Enjolras, Grantaire pulled his arm, making him lose balance and fall down on the floor with a loud yelp.

                The impact of the bullet sent Grantaire flying across the air and colliding with the concrete harshly. Only then he felt the pain of the gunshot.

                A terrible, eating, burning sensation spread across his lower torso, making him gulp for air and shut his eyes tightly. He had never felt anything like that, he had never been in such agony, such pain, such terror. He would have been sick if it wasn’t for the pain consuming his very being. He barely heard Enjolras’ frantic call of his name until there were hands tapping his face, trying to call his attention.

                Enjolras was terrified. He had been confused when he smiled at Grantaire and, in exchange, the man threw him on the floor, but as soon as he heard the nearby gunshot, he understood. Grantaire was now lying in a puddle of his own blood, making a sickening noise that made Enjolras’ chest tighten, and writhing slightly as he grew paler and paler. There was so much blood, there was more blood than Enjolras had ever seen in his entire life, and there were tears leaving Grantaire’s eyes.

                “Grantaire, oh my god, please, talk to me”, Enjolras begged, which was something he never did. Despair was filling him to the brim, and all that mattered in that moment was that Grantaire opened his eyes and looked at him, all that mattered was that he survived no matter what. He desperately tapped the cynic’s face repeatedly, trying to earn any sort of reaction from him that wasn’t that pained, muffled sound that made Enjolras’ stomach churn with worry.

                After Enjolras’ frantic tapping, Grantaire’s eyelids parted slightly, but his eyes were unfocused and glassy from pain and confusion. He opened his lips to try to speak, but no sound other than a tiny whimper left his mouth. Only then Enjolras realized that there were tears in his own eyes.

                “Tell me what to do”, Enjolras begged – again – desperately, because he honestly didn’t know what to do. Automatically, he grabbed his phone from his back pocket, calling for an ambulance even though, deep down, he knew that an ambulance would take ages to arrive, especially with the rally going on mere meters away from them. “I don’t know what to do, R”, he whispered softly, tears escaping his eyes and rolling down his cheek. It was the first time he ever used the famous, witty nickname that Grantaire had come up with. His eyes searched Enjolras’ face for something that the leader couldn’t quite put his finger on.

                “E-Enjolras”, was all he managed to say, before letting out another heartbreaking groan.

                “I’m here”, Enjolras grabbed hold of Grantaire’s hand, squeezing it tightly as if to reassure him. “I’m right here. You’re going to be fine”. Was that a lie? Enjolras hated lying, but this time he couldn’t be sure whether what he was saying was the truth or not.  The hospital finally picked up and he basically shouted their location, begging for help. The attendant said that help was on its way, and instructed Enjolras not to hang up. But then Grantaire gave a muffled scream, and Enjolras didn’t even realize that he had dropped his phone in order to caress Grantaire’s hair.

                He was nearly on the top of him, desperately searching Grantaire’s scrunched up face for any possible signs of what he was supposed to do, when sudden realization hit him. Grantaire was bleeding out. He needed to stop the bleeding.

                Taking off his sweater and rolling it into a ball, Enjolras placed it on the top of Grantaire’s wound, pressing down with hesitant strength. Grantaire cried out, body meekly arching up from the ground, eyes shooting wide open and frantically searching for Enjolras, a hand managing to grab hold of the leader’s arm and clutching it as if it was a lifeline.

                “I’m sorry, R, I’m sorry”, Enjolras was freely sobbing now, completely lost. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to hurt Grantaire even further, but he couldn’t let him bleed out on a sidewalk either. Grantaire let out a muffled sob that broke Enjolras’ heart all over again.

                As much as Grantaire irritated and humiliated him during meetings, Enjolras liked the man a bit. They weren’t the best of friends – actually, they rarely spoke outside the Musain – but Enjolras would have never allowed him to attend meetings unless he trusted him. Grantaire may not believe in anything, and especially not on their cause, but he was Enjolras’ friend.

                Plus, wasn’t it for people like Grantaire that he wanted to change things?

                “Enjolras”, Grantaire whispered again, voice tinier than before. His grip on Enjolras’ arm loosened, and his hand fell limply to his side.

                “You’re gonna be ok”, Enjolras said, managing to hold back the sob that had been forming in his throat. “You hear me, R? You’re gonna be just fine”, he put more pressure on the wound and Grantaire barely cried out this time. He looked dazed, too out of it to properly understand what Enjolras was saying. “I’m here”, Enjolras repeated, but Grantaire’s eyes were already rolling in their sockets and slipping close.

                “En…jolras…”, he whispered before going completely still. His mouth was slightly ajar, slack, and he looked more pale than Enjolras had ever seen him. His chest was still rising and falling ever so slightly, but when Enjolras took his pulse, it was too faint to be acceptable. He was emitting a terrible wheezing sound with each breath, which made Enjolras sick to the stomach.

                 “R?”, he called, desperation making his voice shake. The sickening puddle of blood beneath his body seemed too large to be real. “R!”, he repeated.

                The sudden realization that Grantaire had gotten shot in his place hit Enjolras so harshly that he fell on his bum beside the man’s too still body. Raising his hands in front of his eyes, he saw them to be covered in red, fresh blood, that wasn’t his, that should be his. But it was Grantaire’s. Because Grantaire had seen the shooter and thrown him on the ground, he had taken the bullet for Enjolras.

                Why would Grantaire ever do that? Why would he put his life at the stake for Enjolras’ sake? What had Enjolras ever done to deserve that? He had never treated Grantaire with anything other than politeness, in non-meeting situations, and rudeness, whenever Grantaire got too obnoxious. Why would he ever sacrifice himself like that for a man who had never shown him anything more than reluctant acceptance?

                Enjolras was on the verge of freaking out when sirens wailed from somewhere behind him and two paramedics entered his field of vision. He couldn’t see what they were doing because of the tears blurring his vision, but there was a hand touching his shoulder and a voice speaking to him. He grabbed his phone, which he had forgotten on the floor still on the call with the hospital, with a bloodied hand, and allowed himself to be half-led, half-dragged to the ambulance which Grantaire had been carried to. It was only as he climbed to the vehicle that he realized that he never saw what had happened to the shooter.

                The trip and arrival at the hospital were a blur to him. The only thing he remembered was the sound of orders being shouted amongst the paramedics, and the sickening sight of them trying to resurrect Grantaire. The thought that his heart had stopped beating, that his body was too weak to sustain itself, gave Enjolras the urge to vomit. He had to suppress it.

                He remembered someone helping him out of the ambulance and checking on him, the strong light of the flashlight making his eyes sting. When whoever it was realized that he was fine, if only a bit traumatized, he was left alone in a waiting room, a form to be filled sitting on the empty seat beside him.

                He fished his phone out of his back pocket with a shaky hand, and it was only when he dialed Combeferre’s number that he noticed that his hands were still covered in blood, and it had stained his screen. He hit dial anyway.

                “Enjolras, oh my god, where are you?”, it was Courfeyrac’s voice that picked up. He sounded frantic. “Are you ok?”

                Enjolras had to swallow dry several times before responding, trying to find his own voice beneath the knot that had formed in his throat. Courfeyrac had to call his name once more before Enjolras found it in himself to speak up.

                “I’m in the hospital”, he choked out, his own voice sounding alien to his own ears.

                “Hospital? Why?”, Courfeyrac basically shouted.

                “Grantaire was shot”, Enjolras whispered, on the verge of crying. The tears were still running down his cheeks and he hated himself for it. Enjolras hated crying in public, or even in front of his friends – all the people close to him knew that there was only one thing in the whole world that could make Enjolras cry: fear.

                “Oh my god”, Courfeyrac whispered. Enjolras could picture him throwing his hair back with one hand as he always did when he got worried. “Jesus Christ. I’m on my way. Have you called anyone else?”

                “No”, Enjolras chocked out, poorly pretending that he hadn’t just sobbed. “I don’t want him to die”, he ended up saying for no reason, but it was true, wasn’t it? As much as Grantaire could really piss him off sometimes, Enjolras had never wished anything bad to happen to him. He even liked him.

                The man took a shot for him and was dying in a surgery room and Enjolras was thinking about he didn’t absolutely _despise_ him. Oh, how nice, he even _liked_ him.

                Guilt squeezed his heart and made him want to scream. Courfeyrac had already hung up, but Enjolras still held the phone close to his ear, unable to move from that position. Tears rolled down his cheek non-stop, and he didn’t make a sound.

                None of that was supposed to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt, they were a pacifist group making a pacific protest, it wasn’t even a big protest, there shouldn’t be haters or people with guns… The knowledge that Grantaire had gotten shot, because of him, to save him, still made his stomach churn.

                Minutes passed with Enjolras sitting alone by the waiting room, unable to fill out the form beside him due to the still drying blood on his hands and the trembling of his body. Time blurred together into a mess of thoughts and guilt, until Enjolras spotted Courfeyrac entering the hospital in a rush, Bossuet and Jehan close on his heels. He didn’t know how much time had passed since Courfeyrac hung up, but the hand holding his phone was starting to grow sore and he finally lowered it to his lap, ignoring the way it shook viciously.

                “Oh, god, Enjolras, how are you?” Courfeyrac reached for him first, kneeling down in front of Enjolras and placing a comforting hand on his knee.

                “I needed to fill this out”, Enjolras replied instead, looking at the blank form sitting beside him. “But I couldn’t”, he whispered, constricting his voice so that he wouldn’t sob.

                “It’s ok, Enj, I can fill it for you”, Bossuet promptly said, grabbing the papers and the pen and starting to write down information about Grantaire.

                There were plenty of things Enjolras wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to start. He was at a loss for words. Everyone knew how troubled and complicated his relationship with Grantaire was, but to see the man got shot and bleed out in front of him made him more traumatized than anything.

                Courfeyrac and Jehan exchanged a knowing look as they saw the absentmindedness in Enjolras’ eyes and the still drying blood in his hands. Jehan promptly touched Enjolras’ elbow with the gentleness of a flower and leant down so that he could whisper at the leader’s ear.

                “Let’s go clean yourself up, love”.

                Enjolras merely looked up at the poet, eyes rimmed red and puffy from crying. Jehan smiled softly, almost sadly at him, and Enjolras allowed himself to be pulled up from his seat and led to the bathroom, even though his legs felt too heavy and his body too weary.

                He merely stood still as Jehan carefully washed the blood away from Enjolras’ hands, humming softly as he did so. He was terribly worried about Grantaire, but seeing Enjolras like that, hopeless and frightened, made some sort of motherly instinct rise within him. Enjolras, on the other hand, stared fixedly at the pink water that was running down the white sink of the hospital, realizing once more that that was Grantaire’s blood, Grantaire’s life slipping away through his very fingers. Another tear rolled down his cheek, and Jehan was polite enough to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

                 There were still droplets and stains of blood scattered across Enjolras’ clothing, but there was nothing that Jehan could do about that on the moment. Just the sight of the offending red stains made him wonder how much blood Grantaire had lost, and how bad this gunshot had been. Seeing the profound guilt inside Enjolras eyes, Jehan pulled him into a tight hug, trying to share some of the leader’s emotion with himself so that he wouldn’t have to carry that weight alone.

                “It was my fault”, Enjolras whispered against Jehan’s hair, voice tight. His cheek was damp from tears and it tickled Jehan’s neck, but he only held Enjolras tighter. “He got shot because of me”.

                “It wasn’t your fault, dove”, Jehan shushed, running his fingers soothingly across Enjolras’ arched back.

                “It was”, Enjolras sniffed, sounding as if he was trying to hold back his sobs. “The shot was meant for me. He pushed me out of the way”.

                Jehan bit his lower lip, tears welling in his own eyes. Damn Grantaire and his big heart, damn him and his lack of self-care.

                “It’s alright, Enjolras”, Jehan reassured, still holding the man into the hug. “It’s still not your fault”.

                “Why would he do this?”, Enjolras snapped suddenly, feeling angry. “Why would he sacrifice himself for me like this?”

                Jehan finally broke the hug, but allowed his hands to rest at Enjolras’ shoulders only so that the leader could feel reassurance through the physical contact.

                “Oh, E”, he said sadly, big eyes searching Enjolras’ face for any sort of recognition. “Do you really not know?”

                Enjolras sniffed several times before responding, finally allowing one of his thumbs to brush the tears away from his eyes.

                “Know what?”, he asked, voice shaky. Jehan’s lips formed a thin line. Should he really be having this conversation with Enjolras right now? Should he tell him a secret that wasn’t his?

                He thought about the turmoil that would probably happen if Enjolras found out about Grantaire’s feelings for him while the man laid weekly on a hospital bed, trying to explain himself. Grantaire and Enjolras weren’t exactly known for their ability at healthy communication. They would probably end up yelling at each other even if they didn’t mean to, and it would only make Grantaire’s situation worse. It would be better if Enjolras had some sort of preparation before he could speak to Grantaire, wouldn’t it?

                “E…”, Jehan started, not knowing where to begin. “Well, this is really not my place to say it, but… but I think you should know that R has feelings for you”.

                There was only silence between them, Enjolras blinking blankly at Jehan with a confused expression that didn’t fit his red, tear blotted face. It felt like an eternity before he spoke.

                “He… what?”

                Jehan lowered his head, embarrassed.

                “He loves you”, Jehan explained, staring up at Enjolras with expectation. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t exactly find the necessary words. Enjolras swallowed dry and looked away from Jehan, eyes darting madly across the floor as he emerged in deep thought.

Could it be? Could Grantaire love him? How did Jehan know that? Grantaire and Jehan were close friends, yes, but the cynic had always been closer to Bossuet and Joly. That didn’t sound like a secret that he’d go around spreading. Plus, what other explanation was there to what Grantaire had done? Why else would he put his life at stake for Enjolras? Was it because of his sentiment?

The weight of what had happened downed upon Enjolras so heavily that he lost balance. Grantaire had feelings for Enjolras. Grantaire loved him. Despite all the rudeness and the arguments and the fights, he loved him. Grantaire was shot in Enjolras’ place. Grantaire was dying because he loved Enjolras.

The knot in his throat grew tighter and tighter until he only managed to announce a weak: “I’m going to be sick” before stumbling his way to one of the bathroom cabinets and vomiting in one of the toilets. Jehan was right behind him in the blink of an eye, rubbing a soothing pattern on his back and holding the hair that had managed to escape the bun on the top of his head. Enjolras leaned harshly against the wall after he was done, panting and swallowing dry. He allowed Jehan to pull him back on his feet and walked slowly on unsteady feet to the sink while the poet flushed the toilet. He turned the sink back on and began to rinse the foul taste from his mouth.

“Enjolras”, Jehan called him softly as Enjolras leaned his hands on the sink, washing his face. “How are you feeling?”

It was a stupid question. How was he supposed to be feeling? Grantaire loved him and he never even noticed it. How does someone not notice that? And mostly, Grantaire was dying because of him, because he had failed to realize that Grantaire had feelings for him and did nothing to prevent him getting hurt. Enjolras wanted to protect people, for god’s sake. He wanted to make life better for everyone. If he couldn’t even protect a man that loved him from getting hurt on his sake, was he really doing things the right way?

“I’m fine”, he responded instead, not daring to look Jehan in the eye.

“You’re not fine, love”, Jehan rolled his eyes. “But is there anything that I can do?”

“Why did he never tell me?”, Enjolras asked without meaning to. Fear was making him speak without thinking, and he hated that. He hated how fear made him lose control of himself so easily.

“He didn’t think his feelings would be requited”, Jehan explained sadly, giving Enjolras a sympathetic look. “And they’re not obliged to be. You don’t need to love him back, Enjolras. All you need to do is respect what he feels for you”.

“He should have told me”, Enjolras whispered. Grantaire was a man who took good care not to believe in anything. But he kept reinforcing that he believed in Enjolras. He attended meetings for Enjolras. He attended protests for Enjolras. It all made sense now. Enjolras had never been able to figure out why the drunk cynic was there, why he went to their group when he clearly did not believe in what they were fighting for. It was because of Enjolras. If it hadn’t been for Enjolras, he would have never gotten shot.

He remembered how urgently Grantaire was trying to take him away from the stage, how desperate he sounded. If only Enjolras hadn’t been so stubborn, maybe they would be fine by now. Maybe he wouldn’t be puking at a hospital’s bathroom, eager to know news about Grantaire’s state.

“I agree”, Jehan nodded. “But he didn’t. All we can do now is hope that he will find the courage to tell it yourself when he’s better and recovered”.

Enjolras bit his lower lip, looking up to stare at his own image in the mirror. He looked like a mess; the few freckles that covered his cheeks had disappeared beneath the redness that crying brought, and his eyes were puffy and burning, eyelashes still damp from the tears that had finally stopped for a while. His lower lip was bruised from the frequency in which he bit it, and his hair was disheveled and awry. The sight of bloodstains in his blue shirt made his stomach churn all over again, but he didn’t want to puke anymore. He turned to face Jehan, instead, misery clear in his eyes as he asked:

“He’s going to be fine, isn’t he?”. His voice was pathetically small.

Jehan looked as if he was about to break into tears, but he closed the distance between them with two small steps and enveloped Enjolras into another heartfelt hug.

“I don’t know”, he muttered with sincerity. “But if I know anything about R, is that he doesn’t give up easily. He’s gonna fight to the very end”.

Enjolras merely nodded, thankful for Jehan’s sincerity.

“We should get back”, Jehan announced after a few more seconds of hugging. “Courfeyrac is worried mad about you, too”.

Nodding again, Enjolras broke their hug, following Jehan out of the bathroom.

“Where’s Ferre?”, Enjolras asked as they went down the corridor that lead to the waiting room.

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine”, Jehan explained absentmindedly. “He has a nasty concussion and Joly stayed back to take care of him”.

But Enjolras barely payed attention to what Jehan was telling him, because the loud sound of sobbing called his attention and before he knew better he was jogging his way to the waiting room. There, a doctor stood in front of Courfeyrac and Bossuet, a grieving look in her face, while the former sobbed loudly, face covered by his hands, and the latter had fallen to his knees, body being wrecked by sobs.

Enjolras felt numb. His legs became independent and dragged him slowly towards the trio, heart thumping madly inside his chest. In fact, the only sound that Enjolras could hear was his own heartbeat and the echo of his footsteps on the empty hallway.

His face was blank as he approached his friends, fear making him too paralyzed to show any sort of reaction. Time seemed to slow down as he walked, sounds and movements appearing to be in slow motion as he finally reached Courfeyrac, who looked up at him with the most grieving expression that Enjolras had ever seen. His face was scrunched up in pain and his eyes were filled with tears, snot and saliva clogging on his upper lip as he cried copiously. He stood up and pulled Enjolras into a breathtaking hug, crying loudly at Enjolras’ ear and making the leader’s body shake in unison with his sobs. Enjolras didn’t return the hug. He was too numb to move.

He could see Jehan falling against one of the seats through his peripheral vision, hands covering his face and knees being pulled up to his chest. He was sure that Courfeyrac could feel Enjolras’ beating heart, it was beating too hard and fast not to be felt. Courfeyrac finally let him go, and he looked up at the doctor standing in front of them, searching her face for an answer that he didn’t want to hear but needed to know.

“I am very sorry”, she said, sounding almost honest. Enjolras didn’t understand. What could she possibly be sorry for? Grantaire was going to be ok. He had to be ok. He had to.

“Enjolras”, Courfeyrac called, voice shaking and hoarse. “Enjolras, please”, he begged, even though he didn’t know what he was begging for.

“I don’t understand”, Enjolras whispered, the tiniest of frowns appearing between his eyebrows. “I… I don’t…”, he trailed off. He didn’t _want_ to understand.

He kneeled down beside Bossuet’s shaking form on the floor, staring at him with the saddest of looks and searching the bald man’s face for any sort of explanation that didn’t confirm his worst fear. It couldn’t be true; they must be crying for some other reason. It couldn’t be true.

Bossuet looked up at him with his face scrunched up from crying just like Courfeyrac had, and pulled him into another hug. Enjorlas didn’t return it either, fear paralyzing him. He couldn’t believe it. His eyes were dry and his face was frozen. All he did was breathe.

“He’s gone”, Bossuet ended up sobbing, and the sudden impact of the words made a stab go through Enjolras’ heart. He exhaled sharply, as if he had been punched and all air left his lungs. “R’s dead”, Bossuet continued, sobbing harder. He let go of Enjolras, who, unable to sustain himself anymore, fell on his side, barely avoiding to hit his head on the floor.

He had never felt such pain before. It felt as if his heart was literally breaking, being torn away from his chest, being squeezed by a fist until there was nothing left but broken pieces. He couldn’t breathe, and tears flooded his eyes again, but he didn’t emit a single sound other than the labored wheezing of his breaths. Someone tried to pick him up from the floor and Enjolras put no effort into helping the person, being dragged up to one of the seats like dead weight.

How could he let this happen? How could he allow Grantaire to die for him? It couldn’t be true. It felt too surreal. It felt too wrong. There must be a catch, this must be a twisted joke, a cruel prank, because there was no way Grantaire was dead. Grantaire couldn’t be dead.

Who would Enjolras argue with? Who would refute his every argument, who would annoy him with cynical points of view and obnoxious flirts and comments about his appearance? Who would make him try to work harder just so that he wouldn’t lose an argument, who would make him _better at arguing_ , who would Enjolras fight for now? What was he supposed to do without Grantaire, his nemesis, his opposite, his lacking half? For as much as Enjolras was a believer, Grantaire was the cynicism that he lacked, he was the missing part of his very being, his complementary color. Life without him seemed dull and meaningless, without the thrill of looking forward to a meeting only so that he could see what Grantaire’s argument would be this time, without the anxious expectation of hearing what he had to say and refute it. Enjolras only cursed himself for not realizing how much he’d miss Grantaire until he lost him forever.

Someone gave him water that he didn’t remember drinking, and dragged him somewhere he didn’t remember going, and helped him lie down somewhere he didn’t recognize. Everything became a blur from the moment Bossuet told him the words, the words that made all that horrendous situation he was living real, the words that made the floor beneath him disappear.

Grantaire loved him.

Grantaire was dead.

Because of him.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t do anything. He was lead, dragged, pushed and helped by his friends, without putting any effort into doing anything. He couldn’t. He was numb. He was nothing but breathing and existing.

He ended up falling asleep without even knowing in whose bedroom he was, not realizing when unconsciousness hit him and rejoicing on the silent stillness that it granted him, even if for a few hours.

~

Grantaire’s funeral was simple and too silent.

His family didn’t attend, and Enjolras didn’t bother to ask why. Though he hadn’t been close enough to Grantaire to know many details about his life, he had figured long ago that the man had problems with his relatives. Only the Amis attended, and several people that Enjolras didn’t recognize were there either. Feuilly must have noticed that Enjolras was staring in curiosity, and approached him slowly where he was standing as far away from the casket as humanly possible.

“They’re his boxing mates”, Feuilly explained without waiting for Enjolras to ask, voice low and respectful. He nodded at a group of people on the opposite side of the room to them, all broad-looking and strong. “Those over there are his fencing mates”, Feuilly nodded to another group of people, gathered nearer to the open casket. “And those are his ballet mates”, he said finally, gesturing to a group of slim people sitting beside Joly and Jehan, trying to comfort them.

Enjolras was silent for a long time before finally speaking up.

“I didn’t know”, he muttered.

“Hm?”, Feuilly asked, not looking at the leader.

“I didn’t know he did so many things”, he said, voice lower from embarrassment. He didn’t even know anything about the man who saved his life. The man who was his friend.

“It’s ok”, Feuilly said, tapping Enjolras on the shoulder.

“It’s not, really”, Enjolras protested, lowering his head.

Feuilly didn’t argue with him.

~

Enjolras was the last one to leave the cemetery that day, spending hours on staring at the smiling picture engraved on Grantaire’s tombstone. He remembered the day that picture was taken.

It had been at Enjolras’ birthday. He had been right beside Grantaire on the photo.

He didn’t pick up Combeferre’s calls when he got home.

~

He could no longer sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, images of Grantaire bleeding and calling his name in a raspy voice flooded his mind. He remembered the blood, and the paleness, and the pained groans, and the helplessness he felt as he realized that there was nothing he could do to bring Grantaire back.

Two days had passed, and he still hadn’t slept. He didn’t even bother to brush or wash his hair, actually; what was the point? Dark circles had found their place beneath his bloodshot eyes, and he looked uglier than ever. Brushing his hair would make no difference.

Not that it mattered anyway.

In some sort of sadistic way, Enjolras decided to check Grantaire’s facebook for photos. They were friends on the social network but Enjolras had never been a stalker. He never actually searched Grantaire’s page for anything that didn’t appear on his newsfeed.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he passed each picture, each status update. There were so many pictures with so many people that Enjorlas couldn’t keep track of, but he realized how many pictures of _him_ there were. One that particularly caught his attention had Grantaire on the first plan, smiling excitedly, and Enjolras far on the background, holding a paper in his hand and playing with his hair as he delivered some speech. The subtitle of the photo read: _Apollo on his big day!_ and made Enjolras’ heart tighten inside his chest.

Swiping the screen, he found a video of a speech he had delivered at the Musain, in which Feuilly had started playing the piano after Enjolras finished talking. Grantaire’s voice could be heard instructing someone to “hold the camera”, and then the cynic could be seen running towards Feuilly, climbing on the top of the piano and lying down on it in a sexy pose. He started singing in accord to the tune Feuilly was playing – he actually sang really well – and he looked drunk out of his mind. Enjolras could be seen rolling his eyes in the background, but there was a fond smile on his lips.

The video ended and Enjolras’ room was emerged in silence once more.

He swiped the screen again and found a video of Grantaire holding a guitar. His heart leaped inside his chest before he pressed play.

It was a cover – a very well done one – of Apologize. Grantaire sang with such emotion that Enjolras’ heart broke all over again – how could he not have noticed Grantaire’s feelings before? Everything he loved, he loved with such intensity; Enjolras could clearly see his passion for boxing and fencing and dancing and singing now that he spared the time to properly look at it. Even as he looked at their pictures with the Amis, he could see the way Grantaire looked at him, the same passion in his eyes. How could Enjolras have been so blind? How could he not notice Grantaire’s love?

The lyrics of the song hit Enjolras like a truck and he could no longer hold his phone.

_That it's too late to apologize, it's too late  
I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late_

_I'd take another chance, take a fall, take a shot for you_  
And I need you like a heart needs a beat  
(But that's nothing new)

                The device fell to his bed with a muffled sound and Enjolras pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them and burring his face between them. The song was still playing, Grantaire’s voice flooding his room, and he couldn’t hold back the sobs that were forming in his throat. He was so, so sorry. If there was anything that he could possibly do to bring Grantaire back, he’d do it. He’d do anything.

                He ended up falling asleep in that uncomfortable, sitting position, phone slipping off the bed and clattering against the floor of his now too silent room.

~

                He woke up to a throbbing headache and a blurry vision.

                He must have lied down at some point as he slept, but the bedsheets were tangled with his feet and he was using his own arm as a pillow. As he sat back up on the bad, his neck hurt, and he attempted turning it to the side to relieve some of the knots on his shoulder.

                Then he saw a digital clock on his nightstand that hadn’t been there before.

                Enjolras frowned, outstretching a hand to try and pick it up. He couldn’t. It was somehow glued to the table, and the screen showed a series of simple numbers: 719:59.

                Enjolras was confused. What was that, and how had it come to appear in his room? Combeferre and Courfeyrac had the spare key to his door, but why would they attach such a mysterious device to Enjolras’ nightstand with no explanation whatsoever? As he observed the clock, it changed: now it showed 719:58.

                Enjolras was a smart man. It didn’t take him too long to realize that this was a countdown.

                But a countdown to what?

                Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen he made a simple calculation, finding that 720 hours were equivalent to 30 days. But 30 days to what? What possible meaning was Enjolras supposed to find in that?

                He examined the clock, trying to pull it off the nightstand. There were no wires attached to it, no entrance for any sorts of battery. It was technically impossible for it to be working. There was also no on/off switch button, only the display showing him the countdown, which now was of 719:56. This made Enjolras anxious. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t know what the clock was trying to tell him. He was still fidgeting with the device, phone lying forgotten on the floor, when the doorbell of his apartment rung and he startled, basically jolting.

                It was probably Combeferre or Courfeyrac wanting to check on him, and Enjolras took in a deep intake of breath to calm himself down before exiting his bedroom to get the door. He felt guilty for not answering his friends’ calls, but he didn’t feel ready to talk just yet. Grantaire’s loss was still extremely recent and painful for him, even if they weren’t that close. He watched the man die. He knew how Grantaire felt about him, and that somehow made him feel even worse about this whole story. He absentmindedly pulled the door open, an apology to Combeferre already forming on his lips, but the words died down in his mouth as soon as he saw who was standing on his doormat.

                It was Grantaire.

                “Wow, Apollo”, he smirked, that crooked smile of his that always made a wave of irritation cross Enjolras’ body. He didn’t feel that irritation now. All he felt was the blood running from his face and down to his stomach, hands going numb from shock. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “This is something I never thought I’d say, but you look like crap”. He gave Enjolras a muffled chuckle that made all the hairs in the leader’s body stand up.

                This couldn’t be happening. Was he going insane? Grantaire was dead, he went to the burial, he saw him… he… there was no way he was alive, how could this be? Enjolras stared at the cynic with an expression that could only be described as pure horror, mouth gaping and eyes wide, paleness taking his face. Grantaire looked uncomfortable, and shifted his weight before scratching the back of his ear as he always did when he was nervous or embarrassed.

                “So, uh, I decided to be useful to your group for once and made those designs you asked me to”, he said, not looking at Enjolras in the eye as he picked a folded paper from his back pocket and stared at it with a weird expression. “I know this is pretty shitty because, let’s be honest, I put near to no effort into doing it, but take it as a sketch. If you like it, I can make a better version of it. Someday”, another chuckle, but this sounded more nervous and unsure than anything. Enjolras was still staring at him.

                He didn’t believe in fairy tales, but could this be? Did he wish so hard to have Grantaire back that his wish was granted? Was this even possible? He wasn’t crazy, he remembered attending to Grantaire’s funeral, crying because of Grantaire’s death, aching because of his loss. And now Grantaire was standing right in front of him, as if nothing had happened, perfectly fine and alive and breathing.

                Maybe it was a mirage. Maybe he was dreaming, or hallucinating, or something like that. He automatically, unconsciously, stretched out a hand, grabbing Grantaire’s arm. It was warm, and solid, and real. There was no way it was a hallucination.

                “Enjolras?”, Grantaire called, worry clear in his tone. His brow furrowed in concern as he stared at the leader in front of him. “Are you feeling ok?”

                Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but found there were no words he could possibly say. What was he supposed to tell Grantaire? I know you love me? I saw you get shot and bleed out in front of me? I attended to your funeral two days ago? Grantaire would either think he was making some sort of twisted joke or would actually question his sanity.

                Once again, the world lost balance and the floor was dragged from beneath Enjolras’ feet. Grantaire was alive. Grantaire was very much alive and in front of him and _talking_ to him. He wasn’t dead.

                That revelation was too much for his grieving, guilt-ridden brain to compute. Grantaire’s worried face became a blur in front of him and he became too dizzy to remain upright. The shock of seeing Grantaire alive after everything he had gone through, added to the exhaustion of spending two nights without sleeping properly caught up to him. His legs gave out, and he could only hear Grantaire’s desperate call of his name and the feeling of his own body connecting with his apartment’s floor before he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, thank you so much for reading this!  
> As usual, kudos and comments are very much appreciated, and so is constructive criticism!  
> You can always find me on [tumblr](edema--ruh.tumblr.com) and on [ twitter](twitter.com/prouvvaire).  
> Add me on snapchat if you want to see the progress of my writing! You can find me there as emyholmes .


	2. Chapter 2

                He woke up to Combeferre’s furious face and a glass of water being shoved at him.

                Disoriented and groaning, he sat up with difficulty on the bed, limbs heavy and head fuzzy. He took the glass from Combeferre’s outstretched hand and drank it, not daring to say a word. He didn’t remember exactly what had happened to put him in that situation, but given the circumstances, he had probably passed out from exhaustion or dehydration again.

                But then Enjolras turned to place the empty glass on the nightstand beside the bed, and he saw it. The countdown clock. Memories of the previous days invaded his mind and his shock was so big that the glass fell from his hand and shattered to pieces against the floor.

                “Jesus, Enjolras, how many times have we discussed it?”, Combeferre snapped, getting up from the edge of the bed and walking over to the broken glass, trying to pick the larger pieces the best way he could without cutting himself. “You’re behaving like a child. I’ve told you a million times, sleeping and keeping hydrated is extremely important if you want to –“

                “Where’s Grantaire?”, Enjolras interrupted, looking up at Combeferre with terrified eyes. The guide stopped mid-speech, frowning at Enjolras.

                “At the living room. I told him to wait there”, he explained, going back to picking up the glass. “When I received a call from Grantaire in the middle of the morning, I knew it couldn’t be good, but when he started freaking out and said you had passed out in front of him, I knew that it had to be terrible. You got him pretty scared”, he added absentmindedly.

                “Combeferre”, Enjolras whispered, and the fear and confusion were so evident in his voice that his best friend finally looked up at him, noticing that there was something serious going on. “What…”, Enjolras started, not knowing how to continue. He knew he’d sound like a mad person if he asked Combeferre what he wanted to, but how could he not? He swallowed dry and cleaned his throat before continuing. “What happened two days ago?”

                Combeferre frowned at him and pushed the broken glass on his hand into a pile on the corner of the room, to be cleaned later. He stood up from his kneeling position on the floor and went back to sitting at the edge of Enjolras’ bed, a pensive look in his face.

                “Nothing of importance”, Combeferre said, suspicious. “Why do you ask?”

                “What about the protest?!”, Enjolras asked, a bit too exasperated. “And the hospital?”

                Combeferre’s frown deepened, and he raised a hand to Enjolras’ forehead as if to check his temperature. Enjolras automatically slapped the hand away, trying to show his friend how serious and lucid he was.

                “Are you feeling quite alright?”, Combeferre asked, genuine concern in his voice.

                “Combeferre, how can you not remember?”, Enjolras asked, desperate. He took both of Combeferre’s shoulders in his hands, staring deep into his friend’s eyes.

                “Remember what, Enjolras?”, Combeferre asked, concerned, holding Enjolras’ arms but not removing them from his shoulders.

                Enjolras shook his head, throwing his hair back with both hands.

                “Look”, he took in a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to continue. “I know this is going to sound crazy. I know that it will be really, really hard to believe me but I’m not… delusional, ok?”, he searched Combeferre’s face for any kind of understanding before continuing. “You trust me, don’t you?”, he asked, uncertain. Combeferre nodded without hesitance.

                “With my life”, he said. Enjolras took in another shaky breath.

                “Three days ago we went to a protest against that homophobic law they’re trying to pass on the congress, but the protest went wrong and turned into a rally. Grantaire got shot in my place and saved my life. He died. We buried him two days ago. And then today I woke up to find this countdown clock glued to my nightstand, and the next thing I know is that Grantaire was on my front door, alive and breathing and I was so scared that I passed out”, Enjolras said in a rush, words mingling together in his desire to say everything he needed. He watched the way Combeferre’s expression changed throughout his discourse. He had a condescending look as he opened his mouth to speak, and Enjolras immediately raised a hand to stop him before he could even start. “I know this sounds absolutely crazy and impossible, Ferre, I know, ok? I wouldn’t believe me either. But I’m really fucking scared right now and I need you to believe me because I don’t know what’s going on”, the last phrase came out as a shaky whisper, a knot forming on Enjolras’ throat. Combeferre’s expression shifted again into one of concern and empathy, and he dragged himself closer to Enjolras on the bed. It was very rare for Enjolras to swear, and the fact that he had just done that meant that he was actually serious about this. Plus, death was never a subject with which Enjolras made jokes, or took lightly.

                “Ok”, Combeferre nodded, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He pondered patiently for a few moments, trying to figure out what he could possibly say. “Alright. So I think I can safely assume that, if neither me nor Grantaire remember any of the occurrences you just spoke of, the other Amis don’t, either”, he rose an eyebrow. Enjolras shrugged and nodded. “Which means you’re the only one who remembers”, he rose the eyebrow again.

                “I didn’t speak to anyone else about this, I didn’t have the chance to”, Enjolras said. “But yes, I think it’s probable that no one else remembers”.

                Combeferre hummed lowly, staring at his own knee as he thought about the situation.

                “What about the clock?”, he asked. “What is it counting down for?” Standing up from the bed, he approached the nightstand, avoiding the glass on the floor.

                “I have no idea”, Enjolras said. “I was trying to figure it out when Grantaire arrived. It has no wires nor batteries, and it doesn’t have a switch button. All it does is show this stupid countdown, and I don’t even know how it ended up here or what is it counting”, he huffed out a breath in frustration.

                Combeferre examined the clock as Enjolras spoke, attesting that he was speaking the truth. There was no way that clock could work, and yet there it was, counting down every minute.

                “Have you tried to convert the hours to –“

                “Yes”, Enjolras answered before Combeferre could finish. “I did so as soon as I saw the timing. It’s thirty days”.

                “Thirty days”, Combeferre repeated, more to himself than to Enjolras. He grabbed the clock and tried to pull it off the table with no success. “This is the oddest thing I’ve ever seen”, he commented, even though he sounded more amused than anything. He finally turned back to Enjolras, who was staring up at his friend with a hesitant look.

                “Ok”, Combeferre said patiently. “Tell me in details how everything happened”.

                Enjolras took enough courage to tell the story of what had happened over the course of the past three days, from the beginning of the protest to him stalking Grantaire’s facebook page until he fell asleep on the previous night. Combeferre listened attentively, patiently, and didn’t show any signs of judgement or disbelief, not even when Enjolras couldn’t hold back the tears as he spoke of Grantaire’s death and burial. After Enjolras finished, Combeferre merely stared in silence, wetting his lips with his tongue several times before finally gathering the courage to speak. He took Enjolras’ hand into his and squeezed it.

                “This is all too surreal to be true”, he said with a shrug and a sharp exhale, ignoring the way Enjolras’ face fell. “But I know you would never joke or make up something like this”, he added, and could hear Enjolras’ relieved sigh. “And you don’t look mad, either. I can’t find a rational explanation to this whole story, or even a non-rational explanation, either. But I think we both have an idea about what this countdown means, my friend”, he pointed Enjolras a sad look. Enjolras merely stared back, a sad frown making his brow twitch.

                “No”, he said, shaking his head and looking like a stubborn child.

                “It’s the only explanation I can think of so far”, Combeferre said. “This clock has never been there before. It showed up right after Grantaire’s death, and now Grantaire is alive. The clock keeps counting down, and it’s giving you thirty days”.

                “It can’t be”, Enjolras shook his head, denial making him unable to accept the truth. “No. Thirty days? That’s… no, it’s impossible”.

                “Everything about this whole story is impossible”, Combeferre replied sadly. Enjolras held his head between his two hands.

                “Ferre, how…? Even if this _is_ a countdown to Grantaire’s… _departure_ , why thirty days? Why not longer? Who is doing this? What sort of… deity, or entity, would do such a thing?”

                “That, I don’t know”, Combeferre sighed. “I don’t think any of us knows what’s going on, really. We can only raise assumptions. Maybe it’s not counting down to anything. Only time will tell us”, he tried to sound reassuring.

                “And what am I supposed to do?!”, Enjolras asked, starting to freak out again. He rubbed a hand across his face and then across his hair. “What am I supposed to do, Ferre? Now that I know that he loves me, how can I… _not do_ something?”

                “Enjolras”, Combeferre said, and his tone was more serious and scolding than before. “You’re not obliged to return anyone’s feelings. Just because Grantaire is in love with you, it doesn’t compel you to love him back –“

                “He’s going to die in thirty days!”, Enjolras raised his voice, immediately covering his mouth with both hands, eyes going wide. He hadn’t meant to speak as loudly as he had. Both himself and Combeferre turned to look at the closed door of the bedroom, as if waiting for Grantaire to barge in and demand explanations any second now.

                Tense seconds of silence passed before Enjolras turned his look back at Combeferre.

                “He’s going to die in thirty days”, Enjolras repeated, tone of voice so low that it contrasted harshly with his previous one. “Oh my god, he’s… I can’t go through this again”, he whispered, breathing pattern increasing and tears welling in his eyes. “I can’t, I…”

“Enjolras, listen to me”, Combeferre instructed, shifting his position on the bed so that he could enter Enjolras’ line of sight directly. “We can’t be sure about this yet. If Grantaire really died, like you said, and now is alive, then there must be a reason. There must also be a reason for you to be the only one who remembers”, he took both of Enjolras’ hands into his and shook them slightly as if to reinforce his point.

“I can’t lose him again”, Enjolras half-muttered, half-sobbed, and Combeferre took pity on him and pulled him into a heartfelt hug. Enjolras weakly hugged him back, concentrating on not bursting into tears. “I’ve never been close to him”, he sniffed, allowing himself to lean the weight of his head against Combeferre’s inviting shoulder. His friend was caressing the nape of his neck soothingly. “I never even spoke to him outside meetings. But he… he died for me, Ferre, he… he threw his life away for my sake. And only after he died I realized that there was so much about him that I didn’t know, that I didn’t bother to know, and I never thought I’d miss a man I barely talked to so much but I did, and I do, and the past two days were absolute hell because he was dead and I didn’t even get the chance to tell him how sorry I was for not knowing”, he ended up unable to prevent from sobbing, and Combeferre pulled him closer to his chest. Now, Enjolras was leaning most of his weight on Combeferre, who was sustaining him through the hug on the bed. The position was uncomfortable, but neither of them wanted to move.

“It wasn’t your fault, Enjolras”, Combeferre started, but Enjolras immediately shook his head.

“It was”, he protested, voice muffled by Combeferre’s shoulder. “The shot was meant for me and he took it in my place. If I had noticed how he felt, I would have never allowed him to go to that protest, or to meetings”.

“And you think that would have been better?”, Combeferre asked sadly, almost in a patronizing tone. “My friend, you may be able to control most aspects of your life through your speech, but you can’t control another person’s feelings. Grantaire would have kept loving you no matter how far away you pushed him”, he explained patiently.

“How can you know that?”, Enjolras asked, breaking the hug and staring at Combeferre with a tear stained face. “How did everyone notice that, except for me?”, he sounded frustrated.

Combeferre sighed, not knowing what to tell Enjolras.

“It’s not your fault that you didn’t notice, Enjolras”, he attempted with an apologetic shrug. “Grantaire has a weird sense humor that never lets us know whether he’s being serious about something or not. I don’t blame you for not realizing his feelings for you”.

Enjolras bit his lower lip, looking away from Combeferre.

“What am I supposed to do?”, Enjolras asked, voice small and constricted. “I can’t bear to watch him die again. But I can’t push him away, either. How do I handle this without anyone getting hurt?”, he looked up at Combeferre, searching his friend’s face for the answer he was looking for. Combeferre have him a sad look.

“I don’t know, Enj”, he said, reaching for Enjolras’ arm and caressing it. He lowered his head, trying to find the right words to comfort his friend. “I don’t think there is any happy, easy solution for this”, there was a small pause in which neither of them spoke, too emerged in thoughts and doubts. “But if our assumption is correct and he really is going to… _go_ in thirty days, then maybe you should try to make best of the time you have left with him”, he suggested. Enjolras looked up at him with an expression that resembled a pleading puppy.

“Make… best?”, he asked, hesitant. Combeferre shrugged.

“Maybe this is your chance to get to know him better”, he explained. “Didn’t you say that you regretted not getting to know him? Now you have thirty days to do so”, he gave Enjolras a tiny smile, trying to reassure him. Enjolras looked conflicted, and had just opened his mouth to respond when a tiny knock on the bedroom door could be heard.

“Come in”, Combeferre announced, even though it wasn’t his bedroom.

The door opened slightly and Grantaire’s head appeared behind it, looking around the bedroom for a millisecond before his eyes focused on Enjolras’ tear blotted face. His brown immediately twisted in worry and confusion.

“Uh… is everything ok?”, he asked, sounding hesitant. “I heard shouting”, he added, as if trying to justify his interruption to the pair’s conversation.

Combeferre stood up from where he was sitting by the edge of Enjolras’ bed, straightening his shirt and pushing his glassed back up the bridge of his nose.

“Everything’s fine”, he said, giving Grantaire a smile that could almost pass as genuine. “I was about to leave anyway”, he said, even though he hadn’t mentioned leaving at all. “You, young man, need to keep hydrated and, for the love of god, get some sleep or I won’t answer for my actions”, he turned on his heels to point at Enjolras, raising a warning eyebrow at him. “I’ll call you later to see how you’re doing”, he continued, making his way to the door and opening it completely, and Grantaire had to enter the bedroom in order to Combeferre to get out. “See you, R”, he added, giving the cynic a small pat on the shoulder. Then, he was gone and moments later the sound of the front door closing could be heard.

There was a tense moment in which neither Enjolras nor Grantaire said anything, avoiding each other’s gazes. They had never been too close, or at least not close enough to the point of being completely alone in a bedroom. Now that he thought of it, Enjolras couldn’t remember Grantaire ever being in his bedroom before.

“So, what’s up with you, Apollo?”, Grantaire finally asked, clearly trying to break the ice even though his humorous tone sounded forced. “Haven’t been sleeping much, heh?”

Enjolras’ heart tightened inside his chest. Truly, he hadn’t been sleeping much, and the reason for that was Grantaire’s death. Except Grantaire had no idea about that, and to have him, of all people, tell him that, when the reason for his lack of sleep was the man’s own death, sounded more surreal than anything Enjolras had ever experienced. The cynic must have noticed the way Enjolras’ face fell, because he took a hesitant step further inside the bedroom, instead of remaining by the door.

“You can’t change the world while sleep-deprived, Enjolras”, Grantaire said, but he sounded more serious than before, even though the humor in his tone sounded more genuine. Enjolras dared to meet his eyes, heart leaping. He could see the admiration, the concern, the _love_ so clearly now that he knew what to look for in Grantaire’s face. He managed to give him a sad smile.

“I thought you didn’t believe that I could change the world”, Enjolras said, trying to sound as natural as possible. He didn’t want Grantaire to realize there was something wrong with their interaction and start asking questions. Enjolras didn’t know if he’d be able to lie to him.

Grantaire chuckled at this, some of the tension in his shoulders disappearing as he dared to take another step towards the bed.

“Well, I don’t believe in much of anything”, he shrugged, raising his eyebrows as if to make a point. “But yeah. I think that, out of anyone else, you’re the one with a best chance to change things for better”, he said, and that was certainly the most civic interaction he’d ever had with Grantaire so far. In fact, Grantaire had never said such a nice thing to Enjolras ever before, and this only made the leader’s chest hurt further. He wanted to touch Grantaire, to hold him in his arms and never let go, to feel his warmth and scent and heartbeat and breathing and anything that attested that Grantaire was alive. “Uh… are you ok?”, Grantaire frowned, and Enjolras realized that he had been staring at Grantaire instead of answering him.

“Yes, yes, I’m good”, Enjolras blinked several times, looking away from Grantaire and praying for whatever deity there might be that he _wasn’t blushing_ (even if he could feel the blood rising to his cheeks).

“Are you sure?”, Grantaire smiled. “You were giving me a weird look”.

“A weird look?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow at the cynic, who had already reached the bed and was standing up beside Enjolras from a respectful distance, hands shoved inside his hoodie’s pockets so that Enjolras couldn’t notice their trembling.

“Yeah”, Grantaire shrugged. “As if you had seen a ghost, or something”.

Enjolras felt as if he had been punched in the chest. He averted his gaze towards his own lap. He wouldn’t be able to face Grantaire right now.

“I’m fine”, he said, even though his voice sounded tight and forced.

“Look, I’m sorry for coming without warning you first”, Grantaire said, honestly clear in his tone. He sounded somewhat resigned. “I know I should have called, but I was hit with a sudden wave of inspiration and decided to go on and make the designs you asked me a month ago already, because even though I don’t believe in your activism or whatever, I wanted to feel useful for once, and I thought ‘ha, maybe it will be a good idea to surprise him with this’ so yeah”, he shrugged, avoiding to look at Enjolras either. “Well, I’ll just give you this and go. You can tell me what you thought at the next ABC meeting”. He dropped the scrunched up paper at the bed in front of Enjolras and turned on his heels to leave. “Ah, don’t forget to drink water”, he added without turning back, already half way out of the door.

“Grantaire!”, Enjolras called on reflex, not ready to see Grantaire go yet. The man immediately stopped on his tracks, turning his head to look at Enjolras, but the leader didn’t know what to say.

Actually, Enjolras found there was nothing he could tell Grantaire. There was nothing they could talk about. He just wanted to have him there, beside him. He just wanted to feel his presence. But he couldn’t tell him that without sounding lunatic, and he couldn’t tell him the truth, either.

“Yes?” Grantaire urged when Enjolras merely stared instead of saying anything (again).

“Could you…?”, Enjolras started, shaking his head and rubbing a hand across his face again. He had never been this nervous while talking to Grantaire before – he was socially anxious, but Grantaire was inside his friend group, even though they didn’t speak much. He didn’t want Grantaire to notice there was something wrong, but it was already too late for that. Plus, Grantaire had feelings for him, right? Asking him to stay wouldn’t upset him, would it? “I mean, would you…”, Enjolras continued, feeling more awkward than he had ever felt beside Grantaire before. He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed dry before finally regaining his composure. “Would you mind staying?” he asked, staring up at Grantaire.

Grantaire merely stared back, confusion clearly stamped on his face. He looked unsure as to whether Enjolras was being serious or not.

“I mean, I would like to… uh… discuss”, Enjolras continued, wanting to present a viable reason for Grantaire to stay. “The posters. I would like to discuss the posters with you”, he elaborated. “That is, unless you have something to do right now”, Enjolras added taking a deep breath as he tried to calm his heart down. It was beating so fast that he was sure Grantaire could hear it in the silence of the room, even though he was by the door.

“Oh”, he said after a few moments of staring Enjolras in confusion. He awkwardly reentered the room, walking to Enjolras’ bed once more. Enjolras gestured that he could sit at the bed with his chin, and Grantaire did so, even though he looked like he was about to fall off from the polite way he sat down. “Uh, ok. What do you want to discuss?”

Enjolras hadn’t planned things so far, and once again he was found staring at Grantaire with a dumbfounded expression. This time, he recomposed himself more quickly, and grabbed the paper with the sketch that Grantaire had thrown at his bed, unfolding it and taking a look. Grantaire watched him silently.

The sketch was something like Enjolras had never seen before. It had clearly been drawn in a sloppy way, but still, the amount of detail Grantaire had managed to put there with such little effort was incredible. The sketch showed the silhouette of a man on the top of something that looked like a barricade, holding up the French flag heroically. Behind the man, several people stood, and Enjolras noticed absentmindedly that their silhouettes resembled the Amis. On the top of the image, a text could be read: _Les Amis de l’ABC – meetings on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at 7 p.m. on the Café Musain_.

Even in its simplicity, the design was amazing. Enjolras found himself gaping at it, and he looked up at Grantaire with a sparkle in his eyes.

“I didn’t add any faces because I wasn’t sure if you wanted to make this personal”, Grantaire quickly explained, sounding apologetic. “Like, I didn’t know if you wanted people to connect the meetings with your face, so I thought it better if they were just silhouettes. I can change it if you want, though”, he added quickly.

“R”, Enjolras said in awe. He had always known that Grantaire was an artist, but when he asked him to design him a poster, he wasn’t expecting it to be so good. “This is amazing”.

Grantaire gave him a weird look and chuckled nervously, turning away as if to hide his face.

“What is it?”, Enjolras frowned, even though he was smiling at the man in front of him.

“Nothing”, Grantaire shrugged, smirk still lingering in his face. “It’s just… You never called me R before”, he explained.

Enjolras’ face fell. Embarrassment and guilt rose within him so harshly that he found it hard to breathe. He had really mistreated Grantaire in the past, hadn’t he? Suddenly, he remembered every time he told the man unnecessarily harsh words, or gave him the cold shoulder for no reason. Grantaire might have been an obnoxious pain in the ass, but he was Enjolras’ friend and he never even called the man by his nickname.

“I really don’t mean to pry into your personal life, but do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”, Grantaire frowned at him. Enjolras looked up in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at me as if you personally killed my cat and punched me in the face repeatedly with his dead body”, Grantaire explained pointedly with an eyebrow raise. “I mean, I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’d –“

“No!”, Enjolras quickly interrupted. Grantaire stopped talking and gave him a surprised, almost frightened look. “You did nothing wrong”, he quickly added, trying to ease Grantaire somehow. “It’s just… ah”, Enjolras sighed, taking one hand to his temple and rubbing it nervously. “Sorry, I’m not feeling very well this morning”, he explained. “And I don’t think I ever realized you were a man of so many talents”.

Grantaire burst into laughter.

It wasn’t an obnoxious laughter; in fact, it was very sincere. But it sounded – and looked – self-deprecating, which made Enjolras frown in confusion as he waited for the cynic’s fit to stop.

“Sorry”, Grantaire apologized, wiping one tear away from his eye. “I just found it really funny”, he explained.

“What’s funny about that?”, Enjolras asked, genuinely confused. Grantaire sighed humorously, smiling dumbly as if he didn’t believe Enjolras was being serious.

“The mighty Apollo telling me I’m good at something?”, Grantaire said as if the answer to Enjolras’ question was obvious. “Not only that, but calling the useless drunkard who sits at the corner a _man of many talents_? Sorry, Enj, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor”, he chuckled.

Enjolras found something hot and unsteady rising within his chest and realized it was anger.

“You’re not useless”, he protested, brow furrowing in annoyance.

“That’s not what you told me last meeting”, Grantaire chuckled, and there was no malice on his voice. It wasn’t a petty statement – he was merely telling Enjolras something that was true. His heart ached painfully inside his chest as he realized that, in fact, he had called Grantaire useless many times. Maybe he didn’t add to the cause the way Enjolras expected him to, but he wasn’t _useless_. He danced, he boxed, he fenced, he painted, he sung, he played, he did so many things. How could Enjolras mistreat him like that? And mostly, what sort of twisted human being was he, to only realize Grantaire’s worth after he was gone?

“I’m sorry”, Enjolras told him, guilt overwhelming and making his voice shake. Grantaire seemed surprised at this, at the way he faltered even in his sincerity.

“What? Why?”, Grantaire frowned, seeming genuinely worried about Enjolras.

“For calling you useless”, Enjolras explained, doing his best not to allow tears to rise to his eyes once more. “You’re not”, he added, biting at his lower lip. “You’ve never been”.

Grantaire eyed him with concern, almost suspiciously. Enjolras had never treated him that way. Surely, they had arguments, and sometimes they got ugly, but it wasn’t like Grantaire didn’t say hurtful things to Enjolras, too. Neither of them had ever apologized for their harsh words, especially not Enjolras, and _especially_ not with tears in his eyes and a guilty look on his face.

“Enjolras, it’s ok”, he said. _You weren’t lying by calling me useless_ , he wanted to add, but his self-deprecation didn’t sound appropriate at the moment. The last thing he wanted was to give Enjolras a reason to burst into tears, which was something that looked to be about to happen. Grantaire wouldn’t know what to do if that happened. “You don’t have to apologize”, he continued after a few moments of silence, because it was true, wasn’t it? He didn’t need to have Enjolras apologizing to him when he also did things that hurt the man’s feelings.

“I do”, Enjolras protested, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I’m really sorry for all the times I was a dick to you, ok?”, he bit his lower lip. Grantaire was staring back at him as if he had grown two extra heads.

“Well, I’m…”, he started, clearing his throat in awkwardness. He raised a hand to scratch the back of his ear as he always did when nervous. “I’m sorry, too. For all the times I was a dick to _you_ ”.

Despite his eyes looking dry, Enjolras sniffed – literally sniffed, what the hell – and propped himself forwards on the bed so that he and Grantaire could discuss the sketch more closely. He wanted to say more, wanted to beg for Grantaire’s forgiveness, but the cynic wouldn’t understand and Enjolras would end up making a fool of himself.

“I really liked this design”, Enjolras told him with honesty. “I wonder if you could color it?”, he asked, putting on a sympathetic smile that made a tiny dimple appear on one of his cheeks. Grantaire tried not to blush.

“Yeah, sure thing”, Grantaire nodded, gently picking the paper from Enjolras’ hand and shoving it on the pocket of his hoodie. “When do you want it for? I feel like I don’t have to warn you about how bad I am with deadlines, so don’t expect it to be delivered on the date you choose”, he chuckled.

“Just do it whenever you feel like”, Enjolras shrugged, still smiling slightly at Grantaire, who stared at him with a weird expression.

“Enjolras”, he called seriously. “Are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

Enjolras eyed him for several seconds before responding. They were so close to each other; Grantaire’s face was mere inches away from Enjolras’ and yet he still didn’t feel like they were close enough. He wanted to close the distance between Grantaire and himself and hug him, hold his alive body in his arms just to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating.

“Yes”, he answered instead. “I’m fine”. His face was too stoic and he knew that, but if he showed emotion, he would end up crying.

He would have never thought that Grantaire would be able to affect him this much.

“Well, I…”, Grantaire said uncomfortably. “I think I better be going now”, he announced, sighing and standing up from the bed. Enjolras subtly allowed one of his hands to rest at the spot in which Grantaire had been sat on, just to feel the remaining warmth of his skin. “I’ll let you know when your designs are ready”, he said, staring at Enjolras as if waiting for something to happen.

“Alright”, Enjolras nodded, trying to prevent the frustration he was feeling to sip through his tone of voice. Then a sudden idea occurred to him. “You can text or call me anytime”, he added. And upon Grantaire’s confused look, he continued: “I mean, if you have any doubts or questions. Or… or if you want to talk”.

Grantaire stared at him with a confused smile for several seconds, waiting for Enjolras to give him some sort of explanation. When none of them spoke, he said, hesitant:

“I… don’t have your number?”

“You don’t?”, Enjolras frowned.

“No…?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“Why not?”, Enjolras asked, leaning over the bed to grab his phone, which was still on the floor since the previous night.

“I don’t know”, Grantaire shrugged absentmindedly. “You never gave it to me”.

“Oh”, Enjolras said, taken aback. “Well… give me your number then, I’ll text you so you can save mine”, he asked. Grantaire slowly told him his own phone number and Enjolras took note of it, immediately saving it to his contacts on the phone. He only hoped Grantaire didn’t notice the way he froze when he unlocked the screen and found that the facebook app was still open on the apologize cover video.

“Alright, Apollo”, Grantaire smiled shyly, giving Enjolras a tiny wink that made his chest leap. “See you later at the Musain?”

“Yeah, see you”, Enjolras smiled back. “Oh, and R?”, he called as soon as Grantaire made for the door.

“Yes?”, Grantaire asked, turning his head.

“Take care, alright?”

He tried his best to memorize the smile Grantaire gave him before he left.

 

~

 

Enjolras was in no state to lead a meeting at the Musain on that night. Since Combeferre was the only one who knew about this whole story he was going through, Enjolras asked him if he could lead the meeting only in that occasion, so that he could have time to recompose from the shock of losing Grantaire and having him back in less than a week. Combeferre, always the understanding, agreed, and this somewhat made Enjolras more relaxed.

He spent the whole day staring up at his ceiling and promptly ignoring the countdown clock sitting on his nightstand, still unsure of what to do. Grantaire was alive – he had eyewitness and empirical confirmation of that. But as much as Enjolras hated the thought, he was supposed to be dead. And the most logical explanation for the countdown clock was that it was counting down to Grantaire’s death.

If that was the case, then Enjolras only had 30 days by Grantaire’s side before he was gone forever. Well, actually, 29 days and a few hours. That was a cruel trick of destiny, to have Enjolras know Grantaire for years without taking interest on the man, and then give him only 30 days to know him properly before he went away from his life.

If Grantaire truly was to die in thirty days, then Enjolras had to make sure that he was happy and content with his life on his last days on Earth. He might not know Grantaire as closely as Joly or Bossuet, but if there was one thing Enjolras knew, was that Grantaire had an unhealthy humor that tended towards self-deprecation. It bothered Enjolras before, but not enough to cause intervention. Now, he wanted to guarantee that Grantaire was in peace with himself before he died.

And he wanted to make him happy.

Enjolras had never fallen in love. He never put much thought into it, either, since there were more important things that required his attention. If he put love over his cause, he would never get anything accomplished, and he wouldn’t be another responsible for the people’s suffering.

But Grantaire had died because of his cause, even if he didn’t believe in it. The least Enjolras could do was to give him his attention.

Plus, the way his heartbeat increased and butterflies appeared on his stomach during his whole interaction with Grantaire resembled very much the description people gave to falling in love.

(Maybe it was just guilt, but Enjolras had enough to think about to try and sort his feelings out on that moment. All he wanted was to see Grantaire, as much senseless as that sounded – he had _just seen_ him – and to find some way to right his wrongs with the man).

He tried to take a power nap before the meeting but gave up after he fell asleep and dreamt of Grantaire bleeding out in front of him. He decided to take a cold shower instead, to wash away the sweat on his brow and the shakiness from his hands, caused by the nightmare.

He spent nearly an hour below the running water, trying to forget the way the tears ran down Grantaire’s face and the shakiness of his voice when he called Enjolras’ name as he died.


	3. Chapter 3

Combeferre – bless his heart – lead the meeting as perfectly as Enjolras could expect. Despite of his eloquence and the importance of the points he rose, the other Amis couldn’t help but to notice that there was something wrong about Enjolras. It was very rare for him to ask someone else to lead meetings on his behalf, and when he did so, it was because he was either too sick to speak audibly or extremely busy with something cause-related that needed his immediate attention.

                Except now, Enjolras was just sitting with Courfeyrac at the front of the Musain, watching Combeferre speak and looking completely fine. Joly eyed him worriedly as soon as he sat down instead of starting the meeting, but Enjolras looked just fine, if only a little tired. Everyone seemed confused as to what was wrong with Enjolras, but no one dared to say a word.

                Getting out of his house was more difficult than Enjolras had first thought. He felt as if he would wake up any second only to realize that it had all been a dream and Grantaire was still dead and gone; but as soon as he spotted the cynic on the corner of the Musain’s back room, his heartrate doubled. Grantaire gave him a quick smirk from where he was sitting, bottle of beer already clutched in his hand. Enjolras smiled back, trying to pretend that he hadn’t felt the blood rising to his cheeks.

After the meeting ended, Joly was the first Ami to reach Enjolras and try to check on him. Enjolras merely complied as the man examined him carefully, not saying anything even as Joly turned on a bright flashlight in front of his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”, Joly finally asked, when he was sure that Enjolras was physically ok. He dragged a chair and sat in front of Enjolras, a concerned look in his face. Courfeyrac lingered by his seat, wanting to watch the interaction, and Combeferre approached the trio with papers in hand and a stoic expression.

“Nothing”, Enjolras said, trying not to sound too fake. He trusted all his friends, but making Combeferre believe his story had already been hard. He didn’t want to tell it to anybody else and specially, he didn’t want to see the condescending, disbelieving looks they’d give him.

“Then…?”, Joly frowned, propping himself into a straighter position on the chair. “Why didn’t you lead the meeting tonight?”

“He didn’t have the time to prepare the speech”, Combeferre intervened, and Enjolras had never felt more thankful for being his best friend. He had been reckless, he should have thought about an excuse to give to the inevitable questions he’d get from his friends, but he had been so distressed about the constant memories that kept flooding his mind that he forgot about it. He looked up at Combeferre with what he hoped to be a thankful look, and the man gave him the tiniest of nods.

“Oh”, Joly said simply, even though the frown was still planted in his face. He picked up his cane from where it was leaning against the chair and stood up. “Well, since you’re doing fine and no one is badly injured, I’ll be on my way. Bossuet, R and I are going to a little party later. Take care, and don’t forget to drink water, Enjolras!”, he instructed motherly.

Courfeyrac was still eyeing Enjolras suspiciously, but didn’t say a word as Combeferre sat down in front of the pair on the chair previously occupied by Joly. Behind Combeferre, Enjolras could see Grantaire chatting lightheartedly with Bahorel on the far corner of the café.

“How are you holding up?”, Combeferre asked him, and it took Enjolras a few seconds to understand that his friend was talking to him.

“Holding up?”, Courfeyrac asked, frowning.

“I’m fine”, Enjolras sighed, eyes never leaving Grantaire’s form. He felt stupid, but deep inside, he wanted to go over to the cynic’s table and just… chat with him. Learn more about him, _spend time_ with him, enjoy what little opportunity he had left to be by his side. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Everyone would find it odd, this sudden interest of Enjolras’, who had never treated Grantaire as more than an acquaintance.

“Tell me what’s on your mind”, Combeferre urged patiently, eyeing Enjolras sadly. Courfeyrac sat confused beside them. Enjolras sighed, knowing that he couldn’t tell anyone any of his thoughts without sounding even more crazy. Instead, he shrugged, absentmindedly playing with a loose strand of his hair.

Then Grantaire laughed loudly at something that Bahorel had just said, and Joly approached the pair, urging Grantaire to hurry so that they could get ready to the party.

A metaphorical lightbulb appeared on the top of Enjolras’ head and his expression shifted instantly. Combeferre, who was watching closely, noticed the sudden changed and raised an eyebrow at his best friend.

“What party are they going to?”, Enjolras asked him, but it was Courfeyrac who answered.

“Montparnasse’s”, he explained, clearly confused by Enjolras’ sudden interest. “Why?”

Enjolras bit at his nails before responding, emerged in deep thought.

“Can anyone go to this?”, he asked, doing his best to sound uninterested. “Or is it closed?”

Courfeyrac scoffed, smiling at Enjolras as if he had just asked what was two plus two.

“It’s _Montparnasse’s_ party”, he said again, putting an exaggerated emphasis on the name. “Half of Paris will probably attend”, he shrugged as it that information was obvious. Then he went still, turning slowly to face Enjolras with wide eyes. “Are you _interested in going_?”

Enjolras, embarrassed, merely shrugged, not knowing what he could say without raising suspicions. Courfeyrac made a small, excited noise on the back of his throat, face lighting up as if Christmas had arrived earlier.

“I can’t believe this!”, he said, looking at Combeferre. “Our little boy is growing up!”

“You don’t even like parties, Enjolras”, Combeferre ignored Courfeyrac, giving Enjolras a concerned look from beneath his glasses. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Enjolras spared Grantaire another look from where he was sitting obliviously with Bahorel. He was smiling widely, slightly crooked teeth showing in a way that Enjolras couldn’t remember seeing (or noticing) before. He leaned forward to whisper something in Bahorel’s ear, and the man burst into a roaring laughter.

He wanted to take part in that. He wanted to hear Grantaire’s jokes, see Grantaire’s talent, _be Grantaire’s friend_.

“Yes”, he told Combeferre, hoping that his friend would understand his reasons through a prolonged glance.

“Well, honey, you can’t go wearing _that_ , then”, Courfeyrac said, eyeing Enjolras with something akin to polite disgust. “Let’s go to mine, I can lend you some nice clothes”.

“Is… this really necessary?”, Enjolras asked awkwardly. If there was anything Courfeyrac was famous for, was for wearing impossibly tight clothes.

“Enjolras, I’m not letting you wear this hideous sweater vest to Montparnasse’s party”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, grabbing Enjolras’ hand and standing up as if to lead him. “You’re either changing clothes or not going at all”.

“Fine”, Enjolras huffed out a grumpy breath. Combeferre stood up too, putting his papers inside his backpack and throwing it over his shoulder. As they were about to leave the Musain, Grantaire’s voice calling them made Enjolras’ heart tap-dance and the trio came to a stop by the door.

“Leaving already, Apollo?”, Grantaire teased, taking a sip of his beer before giving Enjolras one of his famous smirks. “I didn’t take you from an early sleeper”, he added, expression shifting into the one he always wore when he was being flirty.

“Oh, you can bet your ass he isn’t going to sleep”, Courfeyrac was the one who responded the tease, placing both hands on Enjolras’ shoulders in a way that resembled a fatherly figure. “He’s going to change clothes to go to Parnasse’s party”, Courfeyrac said slowly, almost as if he wanted to rejoice on the reaction that his words would bring.

There were a few seconds of silence in which Enjolras was watched by all his friends, either of them trying to figure out whether Courfeyrac was being serious or not. It was well known that Enjolras hated parties – due to his social anxiety, he rarely attended them, unless it was made for someone very close to him. To have him going to a party that would be so crowded, and specially, that would be made by someone he didn’t even know personally, was very odd.

“Are you serious?”, Feuilly was the first one to break the silence, an unsure smile dancing in his lips. Enjolras, whose face was completely red by now, nodded, daring to spare a look at Grantaire. The cynic was studying him intensely, almost reading him. Enjolras’ stomach churned. It felt as if Grantaire could see right through him, as if he could touch his soul with just one look.

The Musain was emerged in a tense silence that no one else dared to break. As soon as he made eyecontact with Grantaire, Enjolras found himself unable to break it. They were staring at each other, gazed fixed and almost unblinking, to the point that it felt like Grantaire’s eyes were the only thing in the whole existence.

“Ok, we should be going then”, Combeferre was the one to cut the nearly tangible tension in the room, and Enjolras had to try very hard not to sigh in relief. “We’ll see you guys later, then?”, he waved a simple goodbye, and basically pushed Enjolras out of the door alongside Courfeyrac.

“Wow”, Courfeyrac said, a genuine smile in his lips. When they passed the Musain’s window as they went down the street, Enjolras could feel Grantaire’s eyes following him, but didn’t dare to return the look. “What was _that_?”

“What was what?”, Enjolras asked in a monotone, shoving his shaking hands inside his pockets. Staring at Grantaire for that long only made him remember the haunting way his eyes looked as he slowly lost consciousness.

“I’m actually pretty hurt that you didn’t tell me before”, Courfeyrac shrugged, intertwining his arm with Combeferre’s as they strolled back to his apartment.

“Tell you what?”, Enjolras asked, confused.

“About your crush on Grantaire!”, Courfeyrac exclaimed as if it was obvious. “That’s what you meant, wasn’t it, Ferre? When you asked Enj how he was holding up?”

Combeferre gave Enjolras a look that was a mixture of despair and hesitation. Enjolras merely gaped at him, not knowing what to say.

He didn’t have a crush on Grantaire. He just wanted to make best of his time left with the man while he still could. That would take proximity and getting to know each other, which was something that wouldn’t have appealed to Enjolras in the past, unfortunately. Plus, the only way his stomach turned into butterflies and his heart turned into a washing machine whenever he saw or heard Grantaire’s voice was because of the guilt he felt for his death. It wasn’t because Grantaire was weirdly attractive, or because his voice was rough and soothing, or because he was really warm, or because he smelled really good, or because his passion for his hobbies and his friends were endearing. It _wasn’t because of that_.

“I don’t think Enjolras wants to talk about this”, was the answer Combeferre found to Courfeyrac’s question, and the latter rolled his eyes in frustration.

“Whatever you say, but you can’t play a player”, he said, but looked like he immediately regretted the words that left his mouth.

“What do you mean?”, Combeferre raised an eyebrow, turning his head to look at Courfeyrac. “Who do you have a crush on?”

“Ha!”, Courfeyrac laughed nervously, giving an excited little hop as he walked. “So you admit Enjolras has a crush on Grantaire!”

“I didn’t admit to anything, it’s not my place to do so”, Combeferre replied eloquently. “But really, who do you have a crush on?”, he insisted, trying his best to keep a neutral expression.

“Aw, are you jealous, Ferre-bear?”, Courfeyrac said affectionately, getting on his tiptoes so that he could place a small kiss on the tip of Combeferre’s nose. “Ah”, he complained. “Your nose is cold”.

“It’s because the _weather_ is cold”, Combeferre responded, a little bit more grumpily than he had intended. Courfeyrac went back to intertwining his arm with Combeferre’s, and this time, he dragged Enjolras into the human chain too.

They arrived at Courfeyrac’s apartment and the first thing Courfeyrac did was turn Enjolras on his heels and remove the sweater vest he was wearing. He threw it on the couch as if the item had personally offended him and turned Enjolras back around so that they were facing each other.

“So, I think we’re the same size, aren’t we?”, Courfeyrac asked, examining Enjolras as if to take his measurements. “And I assume you’ll want to wear something red?”, he smiled.

“As usual”, Combeferre said with an affectionate smile from where he was already sat on the couch.

“Alright. Stay here. I’ll be right back”, Courfeyrac instructed and disappeared into his bedroom. Enjolras stood awkwardly on the middle of the living room, eyeing Combeferre with apprehension in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine”, he said, taking his glasses off and using Enjolras’ vest to clean the lenses.

“Here!”, Courfeyrac reappeared from the bedroom, throwing clothes at Enjolras. The leader awkwardly caught them, a frown immediately appearing between his eyebrows as he saw what Courfeyrac had chosen for him to wear. Crimson leather pants, a tight black shirt and a red jacket to go with the pants. After inspecting the clothes, he looked up at his friend, who was giving him an expectant stare.

“You don’t need to change your shoes, they’re fine”, Courfeyrac added, as if that was everything Enjolras needed to hear.

“I’m not going to wear this”, Enjolras said with a pained expression.

“Why not?!”, Courfeyrac asked, immediately offended.

“Just try them on, Enjolras”, Combeferre said from the couch without looking up at them, sounding like a tired parent.

“These pants are going to be impossibly tight!”, Enjolras complained, raising the hand holding the pant as if to prove his point.

“That’s the point”, Courfeyrac said pointedly. “How else are you supposed to make Grantaire stare at the Enjol-arse?”

“Courfeyrac!”, Enjolras immediately protested, blushing deeply.

“Fine, fine, keep pretending you don’t want him to look at your ass”, Courfeyrac sighed dramatically, falling on the couch beside Combeferre, who was still cleaning the spotless lenses of his glass. “Just try them on, please? If you don’t like them, I’ll fetch you other clothes”. He pouted – actually pouted – at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes in resignation.

“Fine”, he sighed, pulling the clothes closer to himself and heading to Courfeyrac’s bathroom to change.

Fitting into the jeans was a herculean task – even though he and Courfeyrac wore the same size, the latter was _way_ more used to entering tight, skinny jeans than Enjolras was. Though Enjolras was thin, the fabric still tugged at some undesirable places, but as soon as he saw his reflection in the mirror, he acknowledged that Courf was right by choosing that pair of pants for him to wear. Even if he didn’t care about trivial matters such as that, his butt _did_ look amazing on that crimson leather.

Adding the black shirt only made his outfit even better, but the red jacket was the crème de la crème. All the clothes fit him perfectly, if only a bit too-tight, but he looked like a model. The only element out of place was the dark circles and the lingering puffiness beneath his eyes, but he couldn’t exactly blame himself about that. Memories of the reason those traits were there in his face made the excitement from the clothing dissipate in less than a second, and Enjolras found himself staring sadly at his own reflection in the mirror.

What was he doing? Was he really going to that stupid party just so that he could spend time with Grantaire? He really hated parties, he could just call Grantaire and set up a meeting for another day.

A meeting. Not a date. Because he didn’t have a crush on Grantaire.

He couldn’t afford to mistake his guilt for love. Surely, he had strong feelings for Grantaire: after everything that happened, he felt a strong sense of caring for him, similar to protection. But he couldn’t let his guilt develop into something more complex than that, he couldn’t allow himself to have a… crush, as Courfeyrac said.

But Grantaire had feelings for him, and Enjolras was squeezing himself into tight, uncomfortable clothes to meet him at a place that he loathed just to have a slight opportunity to interact with him. There had to be some secret meaning to that, hadn’t it?

He tried not to put much thought into it or he’d end up driving himself insane. Instead, he folded his clothes into a pile and exited Courfeyrac’s bathroom with hesitant steps and an apprehensive look in his eyes. As soon as he got to the living room, Courfeyrac gasped audibly and Combeferre raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Oh my god, you look so _hot_ ”, Courfeyrac said, covering his mouth with both hands in exaggerated surprise. He stood up from the couch and approached Enjolras as if to attest that he was real. “I feel like I’m witnessing a Sandy Olsson like transformation. Combeferre, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”, he asked, turning back to look at a still surprised Combeferre.

“Tell me about it, stud”, Combeferre said, with a surprisingly accurate impression of Sandy. He nodded his head with an approving smile, and Enjolras felt a little embarrassed about all that attention.

“There’s only one thing we still need to fix”, Courfeyrac said, rushing into his bedroom and returning with a small bag in his hands.

“No”, Enjolras immediately protested, knowing that bag very well.

“C’mon, Enj. You have nasty bags under your eyes”, Courfeyrac said absentmindedly, already fishing make up products from inside the bag. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you what’s going on. You look worn out”.

“I’m completely fine”, Enjolras lied, standing up in front of the couch. He was afraid that his pants would rip if he sat down.

“Sit over here, let me take a look at you”, Courfeyrac instructed without looking up at Enjolras, finally finding what he had been looking for.

“Courfeyrac, I’m not going to let you put make up on my face”, Enjolras huffed, rolling his eyes. Courfeyrac put a hand to his chest and looked up at Enjolras’ with a fake-hurt expression.

“And here I thought that you were pro breaking gender roles”, he whispered dramatically. “I guess I was wrong all along. I guess you’re just a plain ol’ straight white boy that –“

“Fine”, Enjolras interrupted, sitting down heavily in front of his friend with a grumpy expression in his face.

“That’s what I thought”, Courfeyrac smiled wickedly, pulling out a black eyeliner from his bag.

~

The party was as loud and as crowded as Enjolras imagined it would be. The trio could hear the beat and the music from nearly a block of distance, and it only got worse as they approached the house in which the party was taking place.

Enjolras didn’t think he’d ever been in a place as crowded as this outside of protest situations. Every single person he passed was holding a cup of something that smelled alcoholic, and some of the guests were already drunk. He was very conscious of the looks he was drawing and tried to shrink into himself to call as little attention as possible. His eyes searched for Grantaire in the middle of the crowd with a timid franticness, but he didn’t manage to find him.

Courfeyrac yelled something that Enjolras couldn’t understand over the increasingly loud sound of the music, and then he disappeared in the middle of the crowd. He gave Combeferre an anxious look as several people bumped into him, and the guide took his hand to lead Enjolras to the inside of the house.

Enjolras didn’t know whose house that was, but given Montparnasse’s reputation, he probably didn’t know either. Some seemingly expensive portraits hung from the walls, and Enjolras was almost certain that the handrail of the stairs leading to the second floor of the house were made of marble.

“So what are we supposed to do here?”, Enjolras had to shout over the deafening beat that was making his head spin. Combeferre had to lean closer to him and he had to repeat the words so that he could be understood.

“I suppose we drink and dance!”, Combeferre shouted back, even though he was right beside Enjolras’ ear.

“But I don’t like either of those things!”, Enjolras protested. Combeferre shrugged at him, body moving slightly in accord to the rhythm of the music even though he wasn’t properly dancing.

“Well, then go look for whatever you’re here for!”, Combeferre shouted with a smile and a knowing wink. Enjolras rolled his eyes and left the man to dance by himself, running his eyes across the crowded room in search for a familiar mess of dark, unruly curls.

“Hey, pretty boy”, a random person whom Enjolras had never seen before approached him, yelling at his ear. “You alone in here?”

“No”, Enjolras said dryly, sparing the man one quick, uninterested look before he continued to walk – or rather push himself – through the crowd.

“C’mon, don’t be like that”, the man followed him. “I’m sure I can give this sweet little ass some proper treatment”, the man said, grabbing at Enjolras’ bottom. Enjolras immediately turned on his heels, slapping the cup the man was holding away from his hands and spilling the content all over the floor. Despite of the mad, anxious beating of his heart, Enjolras took a menacing step closer to the aggressor and stared him deep in his eyes with the most hostile expression he could muster.

“You touch me without my permission again and you’ll regret it”, he said as loudly as he could to be heard, scowling. “I am not interested. Leave me alone”.

The man eyed him as if he wanted to argue, but bent over to grab his fallen cup, muttering something that Enjolras couldn’t understand. Without sparing him another look, Enjolras continued his arduous way of pushing people and trying to reach the front door of the house. He needed to take some fresh air, and maybe he was lucky to find Grantaire on the exterior of the house.

Before he could make it to the door, though, a hand grabbed hold of his forearm and he came to a halt, looking around in confusion.

And then he saw those very familiar eyes that were burned into his memory for probably all eternity. Greyish irises were searching his face for something, pupils already dilated and seeable even in the darkness of the room, tiny wrinkles forming on the corners of his eyes as he smiled so openly and sincerely at Enjolras. Enjolras instantly, unconsciously, smiled back, feeling his already frantic heart beat even faster.

“You really came”, Grantaire said, and even though Enjolras couldn’t quite catch the sound of his voice beneath the music, he understood it from the way his lips curled to form the words.

“I did”, Enjolras replied, smile never leaving his face.

Grantaire stared at him for a couple of seconds before pushing his way through the people still between himself and Enjolras and leading the man out of the house at once. The exterior still held many people, but they were mostly scattered across the garden, drinking or smoking. The music and the beat were still very loud, but at least out there Enjolras didn’t have to scream in order to be heard.

“Wow”, Grantaire said, passing a hand across his forehead to push some unruly curls back and away from his eyes. Enjolras had never realized how _beautiful_ he looked like with his hair pushed back like that, and had to keep himself from staring. “Pardon me for being so blunt, but you look really fucking hot, Apollo”, he smiled crookedly, hands coming to rest on each of his own hips. Enjolras blushed deeply, and he didn’t meet Grantaire’s eyes when he said:

“You do, too”. Grantaire burst into laughter at this, throwing his head back. Enjolras’ lips formed a thin, annoyed line, and he was frowning when he added: “Don’t mock me”.

“I’m not”, Grantaire reassured, placing a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. Shivers immediately ran down the leader’s spine and he had to fight to keep the shock from showing in his face. Grantaire was touching him. Grantaire was alive, and his warm, moving hand was touching him. He wanted to touch him back, but found himself to be too frozen on the spot to do so. “I just found it funny. So, what brings you here tonight?”, he rose an inquisitive eyebrow at Enjolras, who turned his gaze away.

“I don’t know”, he shrugged. “I didn’t have much to do, I guess”.

It was a lame excuse and Enjolras knew it. But he didn’t know what plausible explanation he could give, and lying to Grantaire sounded like a bad thing to do. The cynic frowned, giving Enjolras his famous cut-the-bullcrap look.

“What’s been going on with you, Apollo?”, he asked with a humorous scoff, reaching to grab a cup from a random passing person who apparently didn’t know him, based on the look of confusion they sent the cynic. Before the person could do anything about it, Grantaire chugged down half of the cup, turning his attention back to Enjolras. “You’ve been acting different lately”, Grantaire continued, leaning one of his hands on the wall behind Enjolras’ head. Enjolras, on the other hand, had his back leaning on said wall, which meant that Grantaire was partially pining him down to it, only in a respectful distance.

“Different?”, Enjolras asked, feigning innocence only so that he had the time to make up a viable answer.

“C’mon, Enj”, Grantaire chuckled. “You didn’t argue with me, not even once, through the course of the whole day. This must be a record to us. And you didn’t lead the meeting earlier at the Musain, which is something you never do unless you’re dying. And now you’re at a stranger’s party for apparently no reason, looking like a fucking model and – wait, are you wearing _eyeliner_?” Grantaire asked, mortified. He squeezed his eyes as if trying to take a better look at Enjolras, even though they were mere inches away from each other.

“Yes”, Enjolras said, blushing with embarrassment. “What’s the matter with that?”, he added proudly.

“Absolutely none”, Grantaire said, raising both eyebrows in a funny expression that Enjolras didn’t quite understand. He took another sip of his stolen drink and winced slightly, turning his look back to Enjolras. “Want to take a sip?”, Grantaire offered invitingly, showing the cup to Enjolras. He looked to be a little tipsy already, but if Enjolras hadn’t been paying attention so closely, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“What’s that?”, he asked, taking the cup from Grantaire’s hand and taking a slightly disgusted look at the inside. He would have smelled it, if he hadn't deemed that impolite.

“Uh… vodka with some cheap soda”, Grantaire shrugged, uninterested. “C’mon, take a sip. You’ve been breaking so many Enjol-rules lately, why not break another one?” Grantaire chuckled.

“I don’t have Enjol-rules”, Enjolras protested with a frown, and then just out of spite, he took the smallest of sips from the cup. He wasn't used to drinking, and felt childish for doing so just to prove a point, but the alcohol burned his tongue and made him wince as he swallowed, face scrunching up in disgust. "Argh", he shivered, returning the cup to Grantaire, who was chuckling silently. "How do you drink this every day?", he asked, exasperated.

"I don't drink this _every day_ ", Grantaire rolled his eyes with a smile. "I drink much worse stuff", he winked at Enjolras, who was staring back in disbelief.

"Why would you do this to yourself? It tastes disgusting", he protested.

Grantaire's face grew darker, as if Enjolras had just mentioned something unspeakable to him. His expression fell, even though he kept on a sarcastic, self-deprecating smile, and he didn't look Enjolras in the eye when he responded.

"Some men drink to forget", he shrugged.

Enjolras' heart sunk at this, and to hear the deep sorrow hidden beneath a layer of hopelessness in Grantaire`s voice made his chest tighten. He immediately felt the urge to lighten Grantaire’s mood somehow, to make him happy. Was he trying to forget his assumingly unrequited love for Enjolras, or was there some other hidden reason for his unhealthy drinking habits? Enjolras wasn’t sure how to ask that question, and specially, he didn’t know how Grantaire would react to it.

But Enjolras also wanted to forget. He wanted to forget the blood, the shouting, the smell of pepper and gas and sweat in the air, the warm, sticky feeling of Grantaire’s blood soaking through his clothes, the sound of his heavy breathing and the weak calls of Enjolras’ name as he died. Whenever he closed his eyes, that was all Enjolras saw. And he couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed the half-full cup from Grantaire’s hand and downed the rest of it, wincing in the process. Grantaire broke into a fit of laughter, a look of surprise in his face.

“Are you sure you can handle that?”, Grantaire asked, smile never faltering. “You look like a lightweight to me”, he added, crossing his arms as he studied Enjolras.

“I’m not a lightweight”, Enjolras protested, wiping some of the wetness away from his lips. “I just have my fair share that I want to forget, too”, he said without meaning to. Grantaire raised a curious eyebrow and Enjolras blushed. He had touched the topic he had been avoiding the most on that day, and now he’d have to lie his way out of the inevitable questions he’d receive.

“And what is it that troubles Apollo so much that he seeks for Dionysus’ wine?”, Grantaire teased, leaning his hand again on the wall beside Enjolras’ head. Enjolras turned his head in embarrassment for their closeness, a strand of curly hair falling above his eyes. Grantaire made as if he’d brush it away, but he hesitated and allowed his hand to fall back beside his body.

“Why do you keep calling me Apollo?”, Enjolras asked, trying to change the subject. “I’m not a god”.

“Well, you sure look like one”, Grantaire shrugged, giving Enjolras that crooked smile of his. The leader’s blush deepened.

“Oh, is that all I am to you, then? A pretty face?”, Enjolras asked, smirking back at Grantaire. He made sure his tone was light and teasing, because that was the only way the two of them seemed to be able to communicate, wasn’t it? Through teasing and bickering and banters. Grantaire seemed to scan his face for any sorts of seriousness before responding.

“Well, you also got a pretty brain”, Grantaire shrugged, winking at Enjolras, who blushed even further. There was a tension in the air between himself and Grantaire, and they were so close… Enjolras would only have to lean forward a little bit and their lips would touch.

But why on earth was he thinking about kissing Grantaire? No, he couldn’t do that ( _why not?_ ), he had to stop thinking about that ( _why?_ ), he had to get a hold of himself. He cleared his throat, pulling the strand of hair away from his eyes with a slightly trembling hand, and straightened himself against the wall. There was a fuzziness starting to appear on the back of his mind, as a background feeling. It made him feel more relaxed, despite of all the tension and anxiety, and it resulted on him replying:

“You have a pretty brain, too”.

Grantaire stared at him in awe for a few seconds, as if trying to compute what Enjolras had just said. He ended up scoffing out a sincere, surprised chuckle, staring at Enjolras as if the leader’s face was made out of starts.

“I thought you didn’t like my brain”, Grantaire said, smile still lingering on his lips.

“Why wouldn’t I like your brain?”, Enjolras asked, offended. Grantaire’s brain was the reason he was alive, as silly as that thought seemed to be.

“Well, I’m always disagreeing with you and arguing with you during meetings”, Grantaire said, shifting his weight between legs. “And I don’t seem to be capable to believe in your cause or in your group”

“Why do you attend, then?”, Enjolras asked without thinking, tipsiness getting the best of him. Fine. Maybe he was a lightweight. He knew the answer to that question, though, but Grantaire didn’t know he knew. Only then Enjolras realized how awkward that situation must have been to the cynic.

“Well”, Grantaire merely shrugged, not looking Enjolras in the eye. “Let’s just say I have my reasons”.

There was a tense silence between them that was filled by the muffled music of the party playing on the background. The people walking around them went unnoticed by the pair, the two of them too busy staring into each other’s eyes in search of something unable to pay any sort of attention to the background characters of that rarely intimate scene. All Enjolras could see was the grey, expressive eyes staring back at him, something akin to hesitation clear inside them.

It downed on him again. Grantaire was alive. Grantaire, who had died because of him, was alive. He was alive and breathing and hot beneath the touch. If Enjolras outstretched a hand, he would be able to feel his very beating heart.

He couldn’t suppress the urge like he had done earlier on that day and placed his palm against Grantaire’s close chest, shivers running down his spine as he felt the warmness of the skin against his fingers. His touch on Grantaire’s chest was light and delicate, but Grantaire’s heart was thumping madly enough for Enjolras to be able to feel it even through the shirt. The contact felt more intimate and personal than any exchange the pair had ever had before, and that was enough for Grantaire to muster the courage to take a step forward, towards Enjolras.

They were even more close now, and neither gave attention to the plastic cup that fell from Enjolras’ hand with a tiny clinking sound. Enjolras couldn’t tear his gaze away from Grantaire’s, and his lips parted slightly as he felt the cynic’s heartbeat increase further and further the more he approached Enjolras. Their noses were almost touching now, and Enjolras’ could feel Grantaire’s breathing against his parted lips. They would kiss. They were so close to kissing; his spare hand found its way to Grantaire’s waist and leaned there for balance, because he would certainly _need_ balance on that moment.

Why was he about to kiss Grantaire? Was that right of him? Did he even _return_ Grantaire’s feelings? God he was so confused.

But then he saw Grantaire’s eyes staring back into his, doubt and hesitation and most importantly, permission were so evident there, that Enjolras couldn’t help but to deny it. There were nervous butterflies trying to escape his stomach, his heart was beating as fast as Grantaire’s and the man was so close to him that the warmness of his skin was flooding Enjolras, contaminating him with every atom vibration. Courfeyrac was right. He had a crush on Grantaire.

Plus, this would make Grantaire happy, wouldn’t it? He deserved happiness.

Electricity was sparkling on the remaining space between their bodies. Enjolras allowed his eyelids to slip close as soon as one of Grantaire’s hands found its way into his blonde curls, tugging gently in a way that made shivers run down Enjolras’ spine. His head was rushing with a million intrusive thoughts, and he felt almost dizzy from anxiety. He had never kissed anyone. He hoped he didn’t screw it up.

He could feel, even from beneath closed eyes, Grantaire tilting his head to the side so that he could connect his lips with Enjolras in their first kiss. Enjolras took in a shaky breath in anticipation, preparing himself, even leaning his head further forward to ease Grantaire’s reach –

“There he is!”, Bahorel’s voice could be heard from the distance, and Enjolras opened his eyes in confusion and surprise. Grantaire groaned loudly and let out a frustrated sigh, allowing his head to drop and lean against Enjolras’ shoulder. The leader turned to look and saw the large man marching his way to them, a clearly embarrassed Feuilly on his heels. “Are we interrupting the little doves?”, Bahorel asked with a loud laugh that, on that moment, sounded very obnoxious to Enjolras, who merely stared at him blankly.

“No, why would you even _imagine_ that”, Grantaire said, sarcastic poison dripping from his tone as he glared at Bahorel with the most menacing look he could muster.

“Well, sorry, I just came to tell Enjolras that Combeferre is looking for you like crazy”, Bahorel shrugged, clearly unaffected by Grantaire’s stare. “He’s really worried about you”, he added.

“But we’ll let him know that we found you and that you’re ok”, Feuilly said with an uncomfortable, forced smile, hands clutching Bahorel’s arm tightly as he subtly tried to pull the man away from the pair. “Don’t worry, you can go back to… ah… to whatever. Bahorel, let’s go”, he muttered, urging Bahorel through gritted teeth.

“What’s the rush?”, Bahorel frowned, clearly confused. Only then Enjolras realized that he must be drunk already.

“Let’s go”, Feuilly muttered again, giving Enjolras and Grantaire an awkward smile. With one final pull, Bahorel relented and followed Feuilly away, rambling some sort of complaint that Enjolras couldn’t quite hear over the sound of the beat on the background.

Grantaire groaned loudly again, burying his face on the crook of Enjolras’ neck once more. He was sure that he was blushing again, but was thankful that Grantaire had his head down and couldn’t see it.

He took a little advantage of the situation and passed his arms around Grantaire’s waist in what could be called a hug. Grantaire was very warm, and Enjolras let out a little sigh of contentment. If felt nice, gratifying even, to have Grantaire in his arms like that. With the man’s scent and warmth so close to him like that, it was harder to remember the horrific memories that kept flooding his mind.

“Do you want to dance?”, Grantaire asked, voice muffled and breath tickling Enjolras’ neck.

“Dance?”, Enjolras asked, sounding unsure. He didn’t know how to dance.

“Yeah”, Grantaire sighed, not lifting his head from Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras got the impression that, just like himself, Grantaire wouldn’t be quite able to meet his eyes. “It’s ok if you don’t wanna, though”, he added after some seconds of ponderation.

“No, it’s ok”, Enjolras said, daring to raise a hand to Grantaire’s hair in a moment of boldness and caress his curls. “Let’s go dance”.

“Are you sure?”, Grantaire raised his head, meeting Enjolras’ eyes with a suspicious smile. Enjolras nervously returned it.

“Yes”, Enjolras smiled softly. He hated dancing, but he wanted an excuse to be close to Grantaire. “You’ll have to teach me, though”, he added.

Grantaire chuckled at this, once again giving Enjolras that look that made him feel as if he was made of pure gold.

“Who are you and what have you done to the real Enjolras?”, Grantaire teased.

“Shut up”, Enjolras smiled, reaching out to take Grantaire’s hand into his and lead him back inside the house.

~

Enjolras had never drunken so much alcohol through the course of his entire life as he did on that night. It started with Grantaire’s offered drink, and when he realized, he was already on his fifth, dancing wildly with Grantaire. The cynic had told him that it would help him to losen up and dance more naturally, which was why Enjolras took it. The second reason was that he was feeling really, really nervous about all the things that were happening in his life and the alcohol seemed to make him relax, even if just a bit.

He wouldn’t normally do that. He loathed alcohol and parties and loud, senseless music. But Grantaire was there. And he owed Grantaire a life debt.

Plus, he felt the constant, terrible urge to make Grantaire happy no matter what.

He started with stoic, rusted moves that were probably ridiculous to everyone else’s eyes, but Grantaire, bless his heart, was kind and patient enough to teach him some basic moves. They danced with a polite distance between their bodies at first, but as Enjolras got more and more different drinks – even though he hated how they tasted -, the task of dancing became easier and he became less afraid to touch Grantaire. He touched his arms, his torso, his waist, his hair. Grantaire didn’t seem to mind any of those touches, and in fact, he returned them, caressing and tugging at Enjolras’ curls in a way that he realized he loved.

But Enjolras, being as much of a lightweight as he was, soon grew too drunk to remain properly upright, and Grantaire had to drag him away from the dance floor, both giggling madly and without reason. From the corner, Combeferre approached the pair with a disapproving face, taking Enjolras’ arm and helping him to sit down on a nearby chair.

“Drink this and then I’m taking you home”, Combeferre instructed, handing Enjolras a glass of cool water.

“No, ‘m stayin’ with Grantaire”, he slurred, barely managing to find the cup and grab it.

“Enjolras, you are drunk out of your mind and so is Grantaire”, Combeferre rolled his eyes with impatience. Enjolras chugged at the glass of water, blinking sluggishly. “I’m taking you home”, he added in a tone that didn’t open space to discussions.

“I can take him home”, Grantaire said, pushing his curls back with one hand in that way Enjolras found particularly attractive. Combeferre raised an eyebrow at the cynic, as if judging him.

“You are drunk, too”, Combeferre said simply, as if that was enough reason to prove a point.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been way drunker than this and you know it”, Grantaire said, giving Combeferre a crooked smirk.

“I can attest to that”, Enjolras slurred, rising a hand. He was clearly shitfaced.

Combeferre gave Grantaire a serious look, pulling his arm to turn him away from Enjolras’ hearing range.

“If you take advantage of him…”, Combeferre trailed off, the threat of his unspoken words looming in the air.

“I would never”, Grantaire responded seriously, looking and sounded offended.

“Fine”, Combeferre complied, letting go of Grantaire’s arm but still looking as if he didn’t approve that whole situation at all.

“Let’s go, Enjy”, Grantaire urged, grabbing one of Enjolras’ arms and pulling him off the chair into a more or less upward position. Enjolras leaned most of his weight on Grantaire, allowing himself to be basically dragged out of the house.

“Bye, Ferre!”, Enjolras yelled over his shoulder, words lost in the middle of the music and the beat. “Love you!”, he continued, even though they were already out of the house. “And don’t call me Enjy”, he added, voice lower, addressing Grantaire.

“Why? I think it suits you”, Grantaire chuckled, supporting most of Enjolras’ weight with only a little difficulty. Enjolras was very thin and light, he wasn’t exactly hard to carry. Grantaire had one of the man’s arms passed around his shoulder and was holding his waist firmly.

“It doesn’t”, Enjolras slurred, burying his face against Grantaire’s chest. “You smell good”, he added absentmindedly, eyes closing as he allowed Grantaire to lead him.

“Thanks”, Grantaire chuckled, and Enjolras could hear the man’s heartbeat increasing. “You do, too”.

“You smell like cotton candy”, Enjolras continued, and then giggled at some sort of internal joke that Grantaire didn’t understand.

“Uh, thanks…?”, he said, frowning with a smile. “You smell like rainy days”.

“Rainy days?”, Enjolras protested, sounding offended. “That sucks”.

“It doesn’t suck”, it was Grantaire’s turn to sound offended. “Rainy days is my favorite smell”, he added, a bit embarrassed.

“Am I your favorite smell?”, Enjolras asked, confused. He tried to lift his head to look at Grantaire but found it to be too heavy. Plus, Grantaire’s chest was warm and cozy, even if Enjolras was half-walking half-being-dragged across the street.

“You’re not a smell, you’re a person”, Grantaire commented absentmindedly, checking if the traffic was clear before crossing the street with Enjolras clinging to him.

“Am I your favorite person, then?” Enjolras slurred, knowing, deep down, that he shouldn’t be asking Grantaire that, but he couldn’t remember the reason why for the life of him.

“What will you do if I say yes?”, Grantaire chuckled nervously, trying to play cool.

“I don’t know”, Enjolras settled for saying after some moments of ponderation. “Kiss you”, he finally responded, triumphant.

“Try again when you’re sober”, Grantaire giggled with affection.

“I wasn’t sober earlier and you were going to kiss me anyway”, Enjolras slurred, but his words were incredibly eloquent for someone as drunk as he was.

“You weren’t drunk, either”, Grantaire rolled his eyes. “We’re here”, he told Enjolras, trying to prop his body more into a fully-standing position. “This is your building, right?”

“Yeah”, Enjolras muttered, managing to lift his head to stare at the brick-walled building. “How did we get here so fast?”

“Oh, it’s because you barely did any walking, you left that task exclusively for me”, Grantaire chuckled, teasing. Enjolras playfully pushed him, even though he couldn’t put much strength into the push.

He really, really wanted to kiss Grantaire, especially now that the alcohol had dulled his fear and his inhibition. But he didn’t want to push himself to the man either, even as drunk as he was. So instead, he leaned back against the brick wall behind him, waiting for Grantaire to make any sort of first move.

“Do you want me to help you to your apartment or are you good to go by yourself?”, Grantaire asked, clearly embarrassed and afraid that Enjolras would get the wrong impression. Enjolras was drunk but not gone enough to not notice how nervous Grantaire was.

“I’m good”, he said, even though it was a partial lie. He could probably find his way to his apartment; it would only take longer than usual.

“Are you sure?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow, smirking as if he didn’t believe Enjolras.

“Well you can come up if you would like to but I am more than capable of finding my own…”, he hesitated, trying to remember the word. “My own…”

“Way?”, Grantaire offered, an amused and yet affectionate look in his face.

“Yes!”, Enjolras raised a triumphant finger. “That. I am… that”.

“Alright”, Grantaire giggled. “Don’t forget to drink lots of water and take an aspirin when you wake up”, he instructed.

“Sure”, Enjolras nodded, too emphatically, as if Grantaire had just presented him an undeniable argument..

“You won’t remember this in the morning”, Grantaire shook his head, smiling to himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll text you this. I’ll be going now”, he announced, ignoring the little pout Enjolras gave him.

“But the night just begun”, Enjolras protested.

“It’s two in the morning”, Grantaire smiled.

“No it’s not!”, Enjolras said, as if Grantaire had gone mad.

“Yes, it is. Go to sleep”, the cynic instructed with an affectionate squeeze at Enjolras’ shoulder.

“R”, Enjolras called, and suddenly his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment again.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…”, he cleared his throat, blinking sluggishly. He really wanted to feel Grantaire’s body against his. “Can I hug you?”

Grantaire seemed thrown aback by the question, gaping slightly at Enjolras for a few seconds before nodding slowly. He outstretched his arms and enveloped Enjolras into the most comforting, cozy hug that he had ever been given. They stayed like that, enveloped on each other in the street for a few moments that felt like a short eternity. Enjolras rejoiced at the way he could feel Grantaire’s heartbeat even through the shirt. He was alive. He was ok.

Grantaire, on the other hand, was equally confused and amused by Enjolras’ change of behavior. As much as he was loving the sudden positive attention that Enjolras was giving him, he couldn’t help but to wonder where that had come from. He couldn’t remember doing anything to make Enjolras look at him differently, and heavens knew that he hadn’t tried to improve or anything. It had happened out of nowhere, without any explanation, and it intrigued him as much as it pleased him.

He had never imagined that he’d be able to hold Enjolras’ body so closely into his arms, that he would get so, so close to kissing him, that he’d actually have his company to be enjoyed by Enjolras. He could still remember perfectly their bodies glued together on the dance floor, rubbing against each other in rhythm with the music, touching and feeling and being together. He would have died for a single chance to do any of those things with Enjolras, even once, and he was sure that, even now, the leader could feel his thumping heartbeat as he leaned his head against Grantaire’s chest while they hugged.

But then a tiny snoring sound could be heard coming from Enjolras’ still form, and as Grantaire pulled him slightly back to look at his face, he realized that Enjolras had fallen asleep.

Enjolras had fallen asleep while hugging Grantaire. How absolutely impossible was that statement?

With an affectionate sigh, Grantaire picked up Enjolras’ drunken, sleeping form bridal-style and carried him inside the building with only a little bit of difficulty. Enjolras unconsciously shifted to snuggle closer to Grantaire, one of his hands clinging to his shirt. Climbing the stairs to Enjolras’ floor was more difficult than carrying him across the street, and by the time Grantaire got to his apartment his tights were burning from the exhaustion that effort brought.

He had to put Enjolras down so that he could search for a spare key, since he didn’t know whether Enjolras would be comfortable with him shoving his hands into his pockets. He ended up finding it to be glued to the bottom of the doormat – what a good hiding place, he thought – and opened the door while cradling Enjolras’ head against his body. He didn’t have the strength to pick him up bridal style again – he really needed to go back to the gym, as Bahorel kept insisting – so he had to pass Enjolras’ arm around his shoulder again and carry him inside.

He wanted to put Enjolras’ body carefully against the bed, but since he was pretty tired and a little drunk, he ended up throwing it heavily on the mattress. Enjolras didn’t wake up, and even snored louder, tiny sounds erupting from his throat ever so often. Grantaire couldn’t help but to smile at the sight of the perfect, unattainable marble leader, sleeping heavily on his bed with his limbs spread askew on the position Grantaire had dropped him, mouth wide open and snoring. He looked more human than Grantaire had ever seen him.

He pulled the shoes off of Enjolras’ feet and straightened his arms and legs so that his joints wouldn’t be sore once he woke up. He proceeded to go to his kitchen and fetch the man a cup of water and an aspirin for when he woke up with an unavoidable hangover.

Fishing his phone out of his back pocket, he sent Combeferre a message letting him know that Enjolras was home safe and sound. Sleeping in those tight pants couldn’t be comfortable, but Grantaire didn’t dare to take them off. He didn’t want Enjolras to have a wrong impression of him.

Enjolras made a soft noise on the back of his throat and shifted on the bed, turning on his side. Most of his hair fell all over his face, and Grantaire pushed it back with his rough fingers in the gentler way he could. Let it not be said that he allowed Enjolras choke to death on his own hair.

Before he could retrieve his hand, though, Enjolras took hold of it, even though his eyes were still close. His grip on Grantaire was strong as if it was a lifeline, and a frown appeared between his beautiful eyebrows.

“Please don’t leave me again”, Enjolras slurred, voice merely above a whisper. Then his grip on Grantaire’s hand loosened, and his hand fell limply to the side of the bed as he went back to the world of drunken unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

His dreams were confusing, mixed and made absolutely no sense. The only thing he could remember was Jehan telling him about Grantaire’s feelings on the hospital’s bathroom, before tackling him to the floor and hitting his head consecutively with a hammer he had fished out of his sweater. Enjolras tried to protect himself but Jehan was too strong, and he kept hitting him repeatedly until his eyes shot open and he found that he wasn’t in the hospital, but at his house. There was a bright – inconvenient – light seeping into his room through the closed curtains, and just the mere sight of that made his skull feel like it was splitting in two.

He tried to draw it close from where he was lying down, but his sluggish movements only made more light enter the room. With a prolonged sigh, he turned on his side, trying to shield his eyes from the brightness of the day with the crook of his arm. But now his head was throbbing too much for him to be able to fall asleep again, and he gave up after minutes of sheer uncomfortableness.

Noticing there was a glass of water and a pill sitting on his nightstand, he swallowed them both, ignoring the way his stomach churn. He didn’t even have time to notice the countdown clock glued to the furniture and showing an even shorter time than before, for a strong wave of nausea overcame him and he had to jump off the bed and run to the toilet before he puked all over his carpet.

Someone had been kind enough to leave the door of the bathroom open, otherwise Enjolras wouldn’t have made it. He threw up as if his life depended on it, head throbbing painfully and throat burning. There were tears on his eyes, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

He heard the (unbearably loud) sound of footsteps on his corridor and weakly turned his head to look at a silhouette leaning on the doorframe of the bathroom. Through his blurry vision, he realized it was Grantaire, who had dark bags under his eyes but seemed to be otherwise fine. He was smirking at Enjolras’ kneeling form before the toilet.

“So I see the lightweight has awaken”, he commented, but the mere sound of his – otherwise – beloved voice was enough to make Enjolras cringe from pain. “How are you feeling?”, Grantaire asked, considerably less loudly. There was something akin to sympathy in his eyes.

“Like I died and resurrected after a week of rotting underwater”, Enjolras said without thinking, and then began to puke again at the graphicness of his description. Grantaire gently turned the sink on and placed a damp, cold hand against Enjolras’ nape.

“There, there. It’s going to be ok”, Grantaire tried to soothe him. “Did you take your aspirin?”

“Yes”, Enjolras croaked out, voice hoarse and low.

“But I do suppose you just threw it up, didn’t you?”, Grantaire gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Ugh”, Enjolras groaned miserably, reaching over to flush the toilet as he struggled to get to his feet. Grantaire had to help him so that he wouldn’t lose balance and fall.

“How are you not suffering too?”, Enjolras asked before bending down to rinse his mouth with the running water. Fabric tug to the skin of his legs and he realized that he was still wearing Courfeyrac’s tight pants from the previous night. In his hungover sleepiness, he missed the way Grantaire spared a quick, shy look to his ass as he bent over.

“I’m used to it”, Grantaire shrugged. “Plus, I’m not a lightweight. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to making you breakfast”, he announced, and without waiting for any sort of response from Enjolras, disappeard out of the bathroom. Enjolras didn’t know if he had it in him to eat breakfast, from the way his stomach seemed to have turned into a washing machine.

After he rinsed his mouth and washed his face, he went back to his bedroom. The idea of lying back down on the bed and returning to the painless realm of sleep seemed appealing, but he knew that he couldn’t, not with Grantaire in his house. Not only it would be rude, but it was also one of the rare opportunities he had to interact with the man. So instead of lying down, Enjolras removed – with some difficulty – Courfeyrac’s pants and his shirt, changing into some more comfortable clothes, which in this case were his sweatpants and a hoodie he found on the floor.

He walked slowly to his kitchen, all lights in the house making him squint his eyes and wince in pain. The mere sound of Grantaire’s whistling coming to the kitchen was making his skull throb. He arrived to the room to find Grantaire flipping pancakes absentmindedly, at the same time he brewed coffee.

“What is this hideous smell”, Enjolras asked childishly. The pancakes, which would have smelt delicious in any other situation, made Enjolras’ stomach flip and start to rebel again.

“Those, my good man, are R’s special pancakes, show some respect”, Grantaire said, though there was only humor in his voice. “They’re specially made to cure newbie’s hangovers such as yourself”, he flipped one of the pancakes one last time and then set it on a plate, handing it over to Enjolras. The leader scrunched up his nose in disgust, pulling the plate slightly away. “Oh, c’mon, don’t be such a child. You didn’t even – “, Grantaire stopped himself mid-speech when he turned on his heels to face Enjolras, gaping as soon as he laid eyes on him.

“What?”, Enjolras asked, voice still hoarse and sounding grumpy. He frowned in confusion at Grantaire’s dumbfold expression.

“Nothing, it’s just that…”, Grantaire said, shaking his head as if to recompose himself. “You’re wearing my hoodie”, he said, scratching the back of his ear and giving Enjolras a shy smile. Enjolras felt the blood rise to his face rapidly as he looked down to see that he was, indeed, wearing Grantaire’s hoodie. In his sleepiness, he hadn’t even noticed that.

“Oh, I’m so sorry”, he immediately said, making to grab the hoodie so that he could take it off.

“No, keep it”, Grantaire stopped him with a simple gest. “It suits you”, he winked at Enjolras before turning back to the pancakes.

“But what about you?”, Enjolras frowned, leaning his head down on the kitchen counter and rejoicing at the coolness it provided his aching head.

“I have other hoodies”, Grantaire flipped another pancake as if it took no effort at all. “Plus, I can always take it back from you later”.

Enjolras merely hummed, allowing his eyes to slip close. He was starting to drift off when Grantaire’s voice rose him from sleep.

“Your pancakes are going to get cold”, he told Enjolras, pushing the plate back towards him. “C’mon, eat it. I promised Combeferre that I wouldn’t molest you in your sleep and that I would take proper care of you. I’ve only kept half of the promise so far”.

“I don’t wanna”, Enjolras protested childishly.

“I’m not going to let you go back to sleep on an empty stomach, especially now that you threw up most of its contents”, Grantaire gave him a knowing look. “Eat your pancakes, take your aspirin and then back to bed with you”, he instructed with a smile.

“I can’t”, Enjolras said, fighting to keep down another wave of nausea.

“Now you’re just being offensive. Eat the pancakes”, he said firmly, sitting on the counter in front of Enjolras and starting to eat the pancakes he had made for himself.

“Remind me never to get near alcohol again”, Enjolras groaned, grabbing at his fork halfheartedly and taking a mouthful of Grantaire’s pancake. It would have tasted absolutely delicious, if it hadn’t been for Enjolras’ sensitive stomach. “And remind me to ask you to cook me these again, when I’m sober and not dying of alcohol poisoning”, he added, fighting to swallow the food.

“You’re such a drama queen”, Grantaire chuckled. “You’re not dying of alcohol poisoning, stop being so dramatic. You’re just going through your first hangover”.

“What makes you think this is the first time I drink?”, Enjolras asked, playing with the pancake and his fork instead of actually eating it.

“It doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re a prodigy kid”, Grantaire shrugged, speaking while chewing. “You don’t like parties, and you never attend them unless you absolutely need to, which is why I’m still intrigued as to why you went to Montparnasse’s yesterday”, he gave Enjolras a quick look, then turned his gaze back to the plate of pancakes. “All you do is study and write speeches and plan overthrowing the government; your house is impeccably neat for a young adult living by himself and your bookshelf is literally organized by topic. Face it, Enj. You don’t have a social life. And there isn’t alcohol in the house, either. Which is why I can safely assume that –“

“Fine, I get it”, Enjolras interrupted with a hand gesture, head throbbing.

“Eat up”, Grantaire instructed, pointing at Enjolras with his own fork before going back to finishing his pancake. “My point is that, you’re the perfect boy. Yesterday was like an initiation at losing your virtue for you. You got shitfaced and danced in a party hosted by someone you didn’t know. All you need to do now is have sex with someone and plant a tree, though I assume you must have already planted a tree at some point of your life”.

“Wasn’t it write a book, have a kid and plant a tree?”, Enjolras asked, frowning. The frown seemed to be a permanent aspect of his face on that morning, making him look grumpy.

“Whatever gets your motor running”, Grantaire smirked, setting his fork against the now empty plate. Enjolras was still halfway through finishing the pancake.

“And why are you assuming that sex is something necessary in everyone’s life? That very acep –“

“Alright, alright, I get it, I was a dick again. I was just joking. Eat your pancake”, Grantaire interrupted him, rolling his eyes. Enjolras glared at him before continuing to eat.

“It wasn’t funny”, Enjolras protested meekly, taking a mouthful.

“Yeah, I know”, Grantaire sighed. “Sorry. I just seem to… always say the wrong thing when I’m near you”.

“What do you mean?”, Enjolras frowned, looking up at Grantaire. His head was low and his eyes were glued to the table, refusing to meet Enjolras’. One of his elbows were leaning on the back of his chair, making him look as if he was trying very hard to play cool.

“I don’t know”, he shrugged with a self-deprecating smile. “I just like teasing you, I guess. I always say whatever it is that will piss you off the most, just to see what little reactions I can get out of you. It’s pretty stupid, I know”.

Enjolras didn’t know what he could reply to that, so he decided to stay quiet. Even though he already knew about Grantaire’s feelings for him, the cynic didn’t know that he knew, and Enjolras couldn’t even imagine what his reaction would be if he revealed his knowledge.

“Welp”, Grantaire sighed, after several minutes of awkward silence between them as Enjolras struggled to finish his meal. “I’m going to clean this off for you”.

“There’s no need to – “, Enjolras started.

“We both know you’ll end up breaking everything if you try to do the dishes on the state you’re in right now”, Grantaire interrupted him, already turning the sink on and washing the first plate. Enjolras lingered by the kitchen, watching Grantaire do his chores for him, because that seemed to be the polite thing to do. “Oh, speaking of broken”, Grantaire commented absentmindedly, back turned to Enjolras. “Do you want me to fix your clock for you?”

All blood was drained from Enjolras’ face, going straight to his belly. His heart started thumping nervously, madly inside his chest as his brain was frozen to all kinds of answer he could provide. He stared at Grantaire’s back with wide eyes, fear overcoming him. He had seen the clock. He had looked enough at the clock to know that there was something odd about it. Soon, he’d start flooding Enjolras with questions about it and he wouldn’t know what to say and would end up panicking, just as he was panicking right now.

“You still awake?”, Grantaire asked with an affectionate giggle, back still turned to Enjolras and unaware of the leader’s despair. Enjolras cleared his throat, trying not to show how nervous he was, and responded:

“W-what do you mean?”

“Your clock, the one on your nightstand”, Grantaire responded, confirming Enjolras’ fears. “I noticed it was showing off some weird numbers that are definitely not the time. I could fix it for you. I may suck at math but I’m pretty good with fixing things, I guess”, he shrugged, sounding unsure.

“Oh, there’s… there’s no need”, Enjolras laughed nervously. “I’ll just get another one, this one’s pretty old anyway”.

“Oh”, Grantaire said, and Enjolras didn’t understand why his shoulders slumped like that. He sounded a bit disappointed. “Ok”.

“But thank you”, Enjolras added after a few tense moments of silence. “For… offering”.

“No problem”, Grantaire said, smiling. He turned the water off and dried his hands on a cloth on the top of the oven. “Let me get you to bed, then”.

“W-what?”, Enjolras immediately asked, startled. Only when Grantaire turned to give him a confused look, he realized that he had completely misunderstood what the cynic had said. His blushing made Grantaire realize how Enjolras had interpreted his words, and he looked terribly embarrassed.

“Oh, no, not like…”, Grantaire said, clearly awkward. Then he laughed nervously. “You do have a dirty mind, don’t you, Apollo?”. There was a wicked smirk on Grantaire’s face, and Enjolras’ blush deepened, if that was even possible.

“Oh, shush”, Enjolras said, feigning annoyance and turning on his heels to get to the bedroom. His throbbing head was still aching and making him grumpier than he would have liked. He threw himself on the bed and immediately covered his eyes with the crook of his arm.

“Hey, take your aspirin before you sleep”, Grantaire told him from the doorframe, seemingly too shy to enter Enjolras’ bedroom without permission. Enjolras merely groaned, and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “You’ll feel better after it, I promise”, he said, meekly entering the bedroom and placing the aspirin on Enjolras’ hand. Enjolras gave him a half-hearted glare and took the pill, turning on his side.

“How do you go through this every day?”, Enjolras moaned, shutting his eyes.

“I’m way more used to it than you”, Grantaire smiled, crossing his arms. “Now, I think I’ll be going. I already slept over and Joly must be worried about me. See you on Monday at the meeting?”

“Ughh”, was all Enjolras gave as a response.

“Ok”, Grantaire chuckled. “Sweet dreams”.

Enjolras removed his arm from the top of his eyes to see Grantaire go, at the exact same time Grantaire mustered courage and bent down to place a kiss on Enjolras’ cheek. After their near-kiss on the previous night, it didn’t feel intrusive to do so.

Except Enjolras turned his head on the exact moment Grantaire bent down, and the cynic ended up kissing the corner of Enjolras’ mouth instead.

Grantaire jolted slightly back as if he had been burned, a surprised and yet embarrassed look in his face. Enjolras merely gaped at him, cheeks hot.

“I… I’ll be on my way”, he said, not quite meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “Don’t forget to hydrate”.

“Ok”, Enjolras said merely, and before he could even blink, Grantaire was already up and out of his bedroom. In a few seconds, he could hear the front door click closed in the silence of the apartment.

There was nothing he wanted more than to fall asleep and to forget about his problems even if just for a little while after that. His head throbbed painfully and he felt absolutely exhausted. But his heart was beating so fast, and his bloodstream contained so much adrenaline, that he couldn’t find it in himself to fall asleep, as much as he wanted to. He ended up staring up at the wall of his bedroom for what felt like hours, finally wondering where that whole situation with Grantaire was leading to.

He knew that Grantaire was doomed to die. And he knew that Grantaire was doomed to die because of _him_.

But he also knew that Grantaire was loving, funny, so incredibly smart and talented. The way he could paint, the way he could dance, the way he could sing, the way he could play. Enjolras remembered the way Grantaire’s body felt hot and fractioned against Enjolras as they danced, how his rough hands instructed Enjolras on what would be the better way to move his body. He could remember the smell of alcohol and sweat and _Grantaire_ , even if most of his memories from the previous night were blurry and fuzzy, mixing together with each other. He remembered light flares, the beat of music, and a near kiss that never happened. He remembered laughing at something stupid that he never committed to memory, and sharing physical contact with Grantaire more intimate than ever before.

Even though Grantaire was cynic, and self-deprecating, and mostly not helping towards their cause, Enjolras could no longer deny his blooming feelings for the man. Maybe they were a result of his guilt, but they felt real and sincere enough to Enjolras. He had just gone away and Enjolras was already longing for his presence. Seeing Grantaire, touching and smelling him felt like some sort of anchor to remind Enjolras that he was, indeed, alive, and not six feet under.

Fine, he had a crush on Grantaire. But what now?

Enjolras had near to no romantic experience. He had no idea how he was supposed to approach Grantaire on that matter, even if he knew that he had feelings for Enjolras. Asking him on a date would probably seem too blunt and out of nowhere, since their change in interaction only begun to happen on the day before. Slowly showing him interest sounded like a waste of precious time, since Enjolras only had 28 days.

28 days. He had only 28 days to enjoy Grantaire’s company, to give him the proper love he deserved, then he would be gone. Forever out of Enjolras’ reach.

Once again, his heart sunk, and the throbbing of his head became the last of his problems. The thought of losing Grantaire seemed more unbearable than ever. Should he really get romantically involved with the man, knowing that in less than a month he’d be dead?

Deep down, Enjolras knew how badly he’d hurt Grantaire if he put distance between them now, and how selfish that would be. Grantaire deserved what little happiness he could get, and whatever love Enjolras could give him. Because there was no denying it anymore, he loved Grantaire, didn’t he? Grantaire gave his life for him, Grantaire loved him more than anybody else ever had, to the point of sacrificing himself for Enjolras. How could Enjolras not return this love?

His doorbell rang at the exact same time he finally passed an arm over his eyes, and Enjolras sighed in defeat. He had woken up a mere hour ago, but his day was already being terrible. With a groan and heavy limbs that didn’t move as quickly as Enjolras wanted them to, he made his way to open the door, to find Combeferre waiting outside his apartment with a fuming pot on his hands.

“Oh my god, you look terrible”, Combeferre told him, wincing in worry.

“Thank you”, Enjolras groaned, slowly walking his way to the couch, where he laid down and covered his eyes with one of the pads.

“I knew that you would probably be feeling like crap so I brought you some soup”, Combeferre announced, placing the pan on Enjolras’ kitchen counter. “Do you feel up to have lunch yet?”

                “Please, god, no”, Enjolras muttered, stomach churning at the simple idea of eating anything.

                “That bad, huh”, Combeferre clicked his tongue, putting the pot on the sink so that it could cool down. “Well, I’ll leave it here for whenever you feel like eating”, he said absentmindedly, putting away Enjolras’ dried dishes. “I knew you shouldn’t have drank that much, though”, he continued. Enjolras sighed. “You’re not used to it”.

                “I’m sorry”, Enjolras groaned, voice hoarse. “But believe me when I tell you that I’m never, ever doing this again”.

                “I believe you”, Combeferre raised an eyebrow, chuckling.

                “I don’t know how Grantaire handles this”, Enjolras continued. “How could a night of fun possibly be worth this… pain”, he sighed dramatically. Combeferre rolled his eyes.

                “He slept over?”, he asked, even though it didn’t exactly sound like a question.

                “Yeah”, Enjolras said, lifting his head so that Combeferre could sit on the couch. He laid his head down on his friend’s lap, poking it against Combeferre’s belly to show him that he wanted to have his curls caressed. Combeferre, familiar with Enjolras’ ways to ask for affection, prompty allowed his hand to sink on the blond curls and scratch the man’s scalp like a cat’s.

                “And…?”, Combeferre prompted.

                “And what?”, Enjolras frowned, eyes closed.

                “Did something happen?”, Combeferre raised another eyebrow.

                “No”, Enjolras said, blushing lightly. “But…”, he trailed off, not sure how to voice his feelings.

                “But…?”, Combeferre urged, tugging gently at one of Enjolras’ curls.

                “I…”, Enjolras swallowed dry, daring to open his eyes to look at his friend’s face even though the light stung them and made him wince in discomfort. His head throbbed. “I think Courf may be right”, he completed. “About… uh, having a crush”.

                Combeferre eyed him for several moments, with that knowing look that he always put on when he already knew something and was just waiting for the person to elaborate it. A tense silence fell between the pair, where Combeferre studied Enjolras’ face carefully and curiously.

                “And you are sure about this?”, he asked finally, sounding like a parent. Enjolras darted his eyes away from Combeferre.

                “I think so”, he responded. Combeferre shifted slightly beneath Enjolras’ head, as if making a difficult decision.

                “Enjolras…”, he started solemnly, taking a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re not projecting your guilt?”

                Enjolras met his eyes again, a silent pleading hidden in them as he stared up at Combeferre.

                “I thought that, too”, Enjolras admitted. “But… I…”, he swallowed dry again. “It doesn’t feel like it, Ferre”, his voice was small as he said those last words, almost shy. Combeferre sighed again.

                “Tell me about it”, Combeferre instructed calmly.

                “I… I know that if… the shooting hadn’t happened, I probably would have taken way longer to realize it, or I wouldn’t have realized it at all”, Enjolras begun, weirdly eloquent despite of the constant throbbing of his head. “But even if Grantaire doesn’t add much to our cause, he has so many talents, and yes, it took him dying for me to realize how much about him there was for me to know, and it makes me feel terrible for this. I want… I want to make him happy. Whenever I see him, whenever I hear his voice, I have this urgent need… these, butterflies in my stomach that won’t quiet down, this mad beating of my heart, and I just need to be close to him, to get to know him, because even if that clock on my bedroom isn’t counting down to his death, I want to be able to make him enjoy the most of his life”, Enjolras sighed. He didn’t know where that sudden declaration had come from, but he knew he was being sincere. It was the truth.

                Combeferre listened patiently, nodding ever so often. After Enjolras finished his discourse, he took his glasses off, pulling Enjolras’ (actually, it was Grantaire’s) hoodie to clean the lenses. He cleaned them slowly, meticulously, and then finally put the glasses back on after what felt like an eternity of anxious staring and silence.

                “That sounds like love to me”, he settled for saying, pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But is this healthy, Enjolras?”

                “What do you mean?”, Enjolras frowned. Combeferre sighed.

                “I am going to be honest with you”, he started, looking Enjolras deep in his eyes with a serious air. The hand caressing the leader’s hair halted. “I love Grantaire like a brother. He, like all of the Amis, are my family, as much… disregarding of the cause as he is. The idea of losing him scares me, the _countdown_ on your nightstand scares me. I told you I trust you with my life, and I know you wouldn’t play with something as serious as this. But if Grantaire really is going to die over the course of…”, he looked at the watch on his wrist, “28 days, is getting romantically involved with him a good idea? How will this affect you?”

                Enjolras stared at his friend, looking conflicted.

                “It doesn’t matter”, he settled for saying. “All that matters now is Grantaire’s happiness”.

                Combeferre took in a deep breath, shaking his head. He looked frustrated.

                “This can’t be right”, he sighed. “There must be something we can do to stop this”.

                “Combeferre…”

                “No, Enjolras”, he interrupted. “I won’t allow you to self-destruct because of this. And I can’t stand idly and watch Grantaire march to his death, either”, he removed his glasses again, this time putting them on the armrest of the couch and rubbing his eyes in defeat. “There _has_ to be something we can do”.

                “But what?”, Enjolras asked miserably. “We don’t even know what’s going on”.

                Enjolras desperately wanted to do something, only he didn’t know what. If Combeferre could find a solution, he’d be the first one to try it.

                “Have you taken your aspirin yet?”, Combeferre asked, one hand massaging his own temple. Enjolras nodded. “Alright. Here’s what you going to do”, he said in a parental tone. “Go sleep your hangover off. When you wake up, take your soup and make sure you stay hydrated. I’m going to try and find a solution to this”.

                “How?”, Enjolras asked, fear and curiousness mixing in his voice. He slowly – and with Combeferre’s aid – got up from his lying position, head aching all the way as he sat up.

                “I don’t know yet”, Combeferre said, frustration clear in his tone. “But if there’s anyone who understands about this romantic-paranormal sort of thing, it’s Jehan”, he shrugged. “Don’t worry”, he added, seeing Enjolras’ hesitant look. “I won’t tell him anything. Just go to sleep and take care of yourself, alright?”

                Enjolras nodded, pulling Combeferre into a hug. He distantly wondered if he should tell his friend about the near kiss he had shared with Grantaire before, but decided against it. The moment didn’t feel appropriate. Combeferre was one of those people who gave the best hugs, as if he was personally taking half of the weight you were carrying to himself and comforting you on the process. Enjolras always felt better after hugging his best friend, even though his head still throbbed after they parted.

                “I left your soup over there by the sink. Promise me you’ll eat it?”, he raised an eyebrow.

                “I’ll try”, Enjolras promised half-heartedly. Combeferre smiled.

                “Go to sleep, drunkard”, Combeferre teased, smiling and following Enjolras into his bedroom. “And don’t worry. I’ll help you fix things, ok?”

                “Ok”, Enjolras said, lying back down in his bed. “Thank you, Ferre”.

                “Don’t mention it. R’s my friend, too”, he shrugged. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

                “No, I’m fine”, Enjolras lied. “Thanks for the soup”, he added sleepily.

                “No problem, Enj”, he said affectionately, rubbing at Enjolras’ curls. “See you later, ok?”

                “Ok”, Enjolras muttered absentmindedly. Combeferre’s previous words were echoing through his brain.

                Combeferre was Grantaire’s friend, too. So were the other Amis. Was it right of Enjolras to keep the knowledge he had from his friends? Should he tell them that it was very possible that Grantaire’s days were counted?

                He knew they wouldn’t believe his story if he told them – _Enjolras_ didn’t quite believe the story either. It felt too uncanny to be true. How could Grantaire die and then be alive? But there he was, and Enjolras remembered how Grantaire’s death affected his friends. He remembered the way Courfeyrac was sobbing harder than Enjolras had ever seen as they received the news, he remembered how Bossuet blamed himself for spreading his bad luck to his friend. He remembered the way Combeferre stared at them in confusion and pain, still concussed, as he received the news, and how Joly passed out from hyperventilating. He remembered Jehan being apathetic, eyes swollen from crying, and Bahorel’s bruised and scratched knuckles at the funeral. He remembered seeing Feuilly kick a chair in frustration and anger, and he remembered seeing Éponine sob, which was something no one had ever seen before. He remembered how his friends suffered, he remembered that they suffered too, that Enjolras wasn’t the only one to grieve Grantaire’s loss.

                Wasn’t he terribly selfish, to hide that information from them? They could very well be spending Grantaire’s last days with him without knowing it, they could be wasting precious time that only Enjolras knew better to cherish. Shouldn’t he warn his friends of the tragedy that could come?

                But wouldn’t they think him mad? Would any of them, other than Combeferre and maybe Courfeyrac, believe him when he told that there was a countdown glued to his nightstand, counting down Grantaire’s days?

_What was Enjolras supposed to do?_

                It was incredible how, whenever he got out of bed, he felt sleepy, but as soon as he laid down, intrusive, anxious thoughts flooded his mind and prevented him from falling asleep. He felt selfish by not telling everyone what he knew, but knew that if he did so, no one would take him seriously. Plus, what would Grantaire think about his own death? He’d probably figure that Enjolras was being cruel to him, and get angry. Or he’d suffer from anticipation and end up not enjoying the time he had left, which was an unbearable thought. Grantaire deserved to be happy. Enjolras had to make him happy.

                The weight of responsibility was crushing him and he felt like screaming. He was not only responsible for Grantaire’s death, but for his happiness, and for hiding things from his friends. He felt as if he was about to crack from stress, and his headache wasn’t exactly helping.

                Enjolras ended up falling asleep, either from the exhaustion that anxiety brought or from the increasing headache. He couldn’t remember at what point his consciousness left him, but when it returned, it felt like a hammer was beating his skull repeatedly and it took Enjolras several seconds of sleepy confusion to realize that there was someone knocking madly on his door.

                He got to his feet slowly and dizzily, grumpy for being woken up so abruptly. His head didn’t ache so much now but he felt terribly thirsty as he basically limped his way to the door. As he passed the kitchen, he noticed that it was almost 7 p.m., meaning he had slept the entire afternoon away.

                His grumpiness turned into shock as he opened the door to reveal a dripping, soaked-to-the-bone Grantaire shivering by his doormat. Enjolras gaped at him, horrified, and Grantaire’s lip quivered as he choked out a weak: “Can I come in?”

                Enjolras merely stared in shock and stepped to the side to allow the cynic in, barely remembering to close the door behind him as he spat out furiously:

                “What the hell happened to you?!”

                Grantaire disentwined his trembling arms that were crossed above his chest and shoved a hand on the front pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a tiny, brownish and equally-trembling creature from inside it. Enjolras merely stared, confused and horrified, as Grantaire placed the wet, shivering puppy on Enjolras’ arms with the straightest face ever.

                “This dog has no self-preservation instincts whatsoever. It reminded me of you”, Grantaire announced solemnly, removing his shoes with something akin to shyness and placing them beside Enjolras’ couch.

                Enjolras alterned between staring at the dog on his arms and staring at Grantaire, mouth still open in alarm. When he finally mustered the words to speak, Grantaire started to remove his hoodie, revealing a bit of the skin of his belly which Enjolras promptly turned his eyes away from.

                “You’re one to speak!”, Enjolras protested, furious worry filling his voice. “What did you do? Did you jump in a river to save this dog?”

                “Are you telling me you wouldn’t?”, Grantaire gave Enjolras a sarcastic look. “Look, I hate to ask this, especially because I showed up at your place unannounced _again_ , but would you mind it terribly if I took a shower? I’m freezing”, he said, shivering as if to make a point.

                “Well, fine, it’s ok, but seriously?”, Enjolras said, following Grantaire as he made his way to the bathroom and cradling the still shaking puppy in his arms protectively. “How am I the one without self-preservation skills when you jumped into a river to save a drowning dog in the middle of the night?!”

                “Oh, c’mon, Apollo, stop acting as if this is such a big deal”, Grantaire put just his head out of the bathroom’s door, giving Enjolras one of his famous smirks. “If you don’t want the puppy, just give it back”, he said, and Enjolras instinctively cradled the puppy closer to his chest, making Grantaire smile. “That’s what I thought”.

                Enjolras frowned in annoyance, giving Grantaire a grumpy look.

                “Don’t call me Apollo”, he protested through a mutter, just because he had nothing else to say. Grantaire rolled his eyes with a smile and reentered the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

                Enjolras confusedly stared at the puppy in his arms, noticing it had fallen asleep. What the fuck. How exactly did he go from sleeping off a hangover to holding a rescued puppy while Grantaire showered in his house? The puppy whined lowly in its sleep, and Enjolras realized that he needed to jump into action, rather than just standing outside his bathroom while Grantaire was inside.

                Walking to his bedroom, Enjolras picked one of his many pillows and a blanket to set up a makeshift bed for the puppy. He had never considered getting a pet for himself, but given it was a gift from Grantaire and seeing how easily it had fallen asleep on his lap, Enjolras couldn’t just return it. Plus, Grantaire had jumped on a river to save that small, helpless dog. How altruistic was that?

                After settling the sleeping puppy on the floor on the corner of his room – he couldn’t leave him on the bed; what if he woke up and fell off while Enjolras wasn’t looking? -, he searched his many drawers for clothes to lend Grantaire, since there was no way he’d return to his wet ones. He considered giving the man his green hoodie back, but Enjolras was still wearing it and it was more comfortable than he had first thought. Instead, Enjolras picked up one of his own few hoodies, which was red and probably would be a little tight on Grantaire. He took one of his many sweatpants – Enjolras loved sweatpants – and pulled the clothes into a pile. Finally, he took a tower for Grantaire to dry himself with, placing it on the top of the pile and walking back to the bathroom.

                He knocked on the door, waiting for some sort of response from Grantaire. Instead, he heard only the sound of the running water and a muffled singing.

                “Grantaire, I have clothes for you”, Enjolras announced to no avail. There was no response. He knocked on the door again, louder this time. “R, can I come in?”

                He could just leave the clothes by the door, but how would Grantaire dry himself without the towel? With one last series of sharp, loud knocks on the door, Enjolras merely announced:

                “Grantaire, I’m coming in with your towel”, and then he pushed the ajar door open.

                At the exact same time Grantaire turned the water off and pulled the shower curtain, revealing his naked, wet form to Enjolras.

                There was a millisecond in which Enjolras could feel his eyebrows shot up and his eyes widen, lips parting, chest rising with the deep intake of breath he took. Then, just as his eyes inevitably darted towards Grantaire’s lower waist, his body caught up with the reasonable part of his brain and he spun on his heels, back turning to Grantaire and shutting his eyes tightly.

                “Oh my god, I’m so sorry”, Enjolras said sincerely, cheeks burning hotter than ever. “I thought you had heard me, I said I was coming in”, he continued nervously, holding out the towel for Grantaire over his shoulder, not daring to turn back.

                “I-t’s o-okay”, Grantaire said, obviously embarrassed. God. Why was Enjolras such a screw up? Why did he have to make everything more awkward between them? “I d-didn’t heard, ah, hear you, I should be t-the one apologizing”. His voice was so shaky. Enjolras put the clothes he was still holding on the sink, hands tightening into fists and reopening in his nervousness. He didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so he crossed his arms above his chest. “Uh… sorry”, Grantaire added, awkward.

                “It’s ok, don’t worry”, Enjolras said, even though he was the one supposed to be apologizing. He was too busy trying to control his breathing pattern and his thumping heart.

                “Uh… would you mind…?”, Grantaire asked awkwardly, never finishing his sentence. Enjolras frowned, confused. “I… well, just for a second, so I can… uh, change…?”, he added when Enjolras didn’t move.

                Enjolras basically jolted at this, realizing his stupidity. He basically darted to the bathroom floor, muttering “oh my god, you are right, I’m so sorry” as he went. He daren’t turn back as he closed the door behind him, and he was about to run to his bedroom and hide his face in a pillow for all eternity when he remembered he hadn’t told Grantaire what to do with his wet clothes.

                “Ah, leave your wet clothes on the sink, I’ll take care of them later”, Enjolras returned and yelled at the door, voice shakier than he would have liked. Grantaire responded with an equally shaky “okay”, and Enjolras got as far away from the bathroom as humanly possible. He left the door of his bedroom open, not wanting Grantaire to feel like he was unwelcome there, and sat down beside of the still sleeping puppy without knowing what to do. His head had gone back to throbbing and he let out several shaky breaths as he tried to return to a normal breathing pattern.

                He could hear the bathroom door opening and tried not to look too stiff or unreceptive as he heard Grantaire’s footsteps approaching the bedroom, and even managed a shy, clearly embarrassed smile when he turned his head and saw the man standing by the doorframe, as if waiting for permission to enter the room.

                “F-feeling better?”, Enjolras asked hesitantly, and immediately cursed himself for stuttering. Grantaire shyly approached the leader and sat down on the floor beside him, a respectful distance placed between them.

                “Yeah”, Grantaire said simply, outstretching a hand to caress the sleeping puppy’s head. “Less cold”, he added after a few seconds of tense silence.

                Enjolras merely hummed in response, looking at the puppy rather than at Grantaire. The tense atmosphere between them was becoming unbearable, and even though Enjolras had managed to control his face into a neutral expression, his head was screaming for him to say something, anything, if only to break the ice.

                “Do you want to eat soup?”, Enjolras said abruptly, at the same time Grantaire said: “We should probably take him to a vet”.

                They stared at each other, both terribly embarrassed by the awkwardness of the situation, and Grantaire turned his head, making his curls fall on his face as if to prevent Enjolras from seeing his flushing cheeks.

                “Uh, you’re probably right”, Enjolras commented, not meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “Is… is there any vet clinic you know to be open right now?”

                “It isn’t really that late, you know”, Grantaire chuckled nervously. “But yeah, I know one. We can take him and then eat soup when we get back? That’s it, if you want to”, he quickly added. Enjolras swallowed dry before nodding, and not wanting to make things more awkward, he quickly got to his feet, Grantaire following him. The cynic carefully picked up the puppy and put him inside his hoodie pocket, making sure his head was slightly out the fabric so he could breathe. They silently made their way to the living room, where Enjolras picked his keys and his phone and politely opened the door for Grantaire.

                As they went down the stairs and down the street, an uneasy silence lingered between them. Enjolras tried – to no avail – to take Grantaire’s naked image out of his mind, but it seemed the more he tried to forget it, the more the image clung to his brain. He was starting to flush in embarrassment again when Grantaire finally broke the silence.

                “I’m really sorry for the bathroom thing”, he said, clearly walked. “I was singing and I didn’t hear you coming in. I… I really don’t want things to get awkward between us now”, he shrugged.

                “It’s fine, don’t worry about it”, Enjolras said half-heartedly. “It… it wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who should be apologizing for bursting into the bathroom while you were on the shower”, he laughed nervously.

                “Let’s just forget about it, then?”, Grantaire suggested, chuckling nervously. “I really don’t want to throw all this progress on the garbage, to be honest”, he shrugged again. Enjolras noticed Grantaire shrugged a lot.

                “Progress?”, Enjolras frowned.

                “Well, yeah”, Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I think we had more interaction these past two days than throughout our whole friendship altogether”, he said, and then shoved one of his arms in front of Enjolras to make him stop walking. A car rushed past the two of them, mere inches away from where Enjolras was standing. Grantaire pointed him with a disapproving look, and then muttered: “Self-preservation instincts”.

                “Says the man who jumped on a river”, Enjolras protested with a huff as they crossed the street. “And yes… I suppose you’re right. We don’t… seem to know much about each other, do we?”

                “Well”, Grantaire shrugged again, and honestly, Enjolras noticed that the gesture always came with a tinge of self-deprecation in his tone that was driving the leader insane. “I suppose so”, Grantaire said, mysteriously.

                “But this has been nice”, Enjolras said hesitantly, trying to see Grantaire’s reaction through the corner of his eye. He didn’t know how to make that conversation develop, and he didn’t want Grantaire to feel like things between them were awkward.

                “It has”, Grantaire chuckled, lowering his head. Silence fell between them again, and it was driving Enjolras insane. He wanted to say something, but kept talking himself out of it. Eventually, after a stressing inner-discussion that lasted minutes, he mustered the courage to say:

                “You sing very well”. It was a simple sentence, but it was enough to make his heart race as if he had run for miles non-stop. He didn’t dare to look at Grantaire, but could feel the cynic’s eyes on him.

                “Oh?”, he said, taken aback by Enjolras’ compliment. “Thanks”, he finally added, a shy smile tinging his lips.

                “I saw some of your covers”, Enjolras added, even though he didn’t know why – it was only making him more nervous. “On facebook. They’re really good”.

                “I didn’t take you for a stalker”, Grantaire teased, finally turning to stare at Enjolras. They finally reached the veterinary clinic, and Enjolras sat down on the waiting room as Grantaire talked to the receptionist and explained the situation. The lady was kind enough to the cynic and soon a vet arrived and Grantaire handed the small puppy to him. He then made his way to the waiting room and sat beside Enjolras.

                They were the only ones there, which made the silence even more awkward. The receptionist was ignoring them completely.

                “Look, uh, you don’t need to keep the puppy if you don’t want to, ok?”, Grantaire told Enjolras, hands fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. Enjolras noticed that there was paint on the corners of his fingers. “I know dogs can be really expensive and stuff. I just wouldn’t let him drown to death, and I thought you could use some company”.

                “Company?”, Enjolras asked, curious.

                “Yeah. I don’t know”, Grantaire shrugged. “You seem to be a bit lonely, living in that big apartment by yourself and stuff. But I can get someone to keep the dog if you don’t –“

                “R”, Enjolras called softly, finally realizing that Grantaire must have been feeling as nervous as he was. He placed a hand on the top of Grantaire’s, slowly brushing a thumb on the soft skin. “It’s ok. I liked the puppy. It was an amazing gift”.

                Grantaire met his eyes, and Enjolras noticed how close they were. He remembered how Grantaire had kissed the corner of his mouth earlier on that day, and turned away to hide the embarrassment on his face. Grantaire did the same.

                “Have you chosen a name yet?”, Grantaire asked. Enjolras didn’t remove his hand from the top of Grantaire’s.

                “No”, Enjolras sighed. “But I think Lamarque is a good enough name?”

                “You’re not naming the fucking dog Lamarque”, Grantaire snorted, sitting straighter on his chair. “You gotta choose a dog name”.

                “What on earth is a dog name?”, Enjolras frowned, looking at Grantaire as if he was mad.

                “I don’t know, man. Something like Fluffy, or Toby, or Toto”, Grantaire said pointedly.

                “What kind of dog have you been owning? I’m not naming my dog Toto”, Enjolras protested.

                “Oh, he’s _your_ dog now, huh”, Grantaire teased. “Let’s not forget who saved that poor puppy’s life. I want a shared custody”.

                “You gave me the dog!”, Enjolras protested, confused.

                “You got me there”, Grantaire leaned his head back against the wall. “I still want half of Toto’s custody, though”.

                “His name isn’t Toto”, Enjolras rolled his eyes.

                “Fine. Adam Smith, then”, Grantaire gave Enjolras a wicked smirk. Enjolras immediately squinted at him, fuming.

                “There is _no way in hell_ –!”, he begun, raising his voice. Grantaire burst into laughter and placed two hands on Enjolras shoulders, pulling him back on his seat.

                “I’m joking, I’m joking!”, Grantaire giggled, holding Enjolras back. “Fine, fine. What do you want to call him? Besides Lamarque, that is”.

                Enjolras bit his lower lip, trying to think of a name that could fit the dog. Suddenly, an idea appeared on his mind, and he turned to Grantaire, a wide smile on his lips.

                “Brownie!”, he said triumphantly. Grantaire couldn’t help but to smile back, even though there was a frown on his brow.

                “Brownie?”, Grantaire asked curiously.

                “Yes! Because he’s… brown and cute?”, Enjolras asked tentatively.

                Grantaire burst into laughter at this, passing his arms around his belly as if to hold it. The receptionist gave them a questioning look.

                “You’re one of a kind, Apollo”, Grantaire chuckled, wiping away a single tear that had escaped his eye during his laughing fit. “But yeah, I suppose Brownie fits”.

                “Don’t call me Apollo”, Enjolras said grumpily. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

                “Alright, Enjolras”, he pronounced the name slowly, allowing his tongue to curl with every syllable. “Have you ever taken care of a dog?”

                “No”, Enjolras admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

                “Yeah, I supposed so”, Grantaire responded.

                “What do you mean?”, the leader frowned.

                “Oh, c’mon”, Grantaire smirked. “You barely even take care of yourself!”

                “Oh, and you are one to speak!”, Enjolras protested.

                “I’m not the one who passed out from dehydration and inanition two days ago”, Grantaire gave him a shit-eating grin.

                “I’m not the one who jumped –!”, Enjolras stopped himself right in time. _In front of a bullet_ , he was about to say. God, how did he lost control so easily? Grantaire must have noticed something wrong in his expression, because he was giving Enjolras a concerned look. “In a river”, Enjolras continued, voice merely above a whisper and heart racing. He only hoped Grantaire didn’t question him further.

                “You need to improve your arguments, Enj”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “I jumped in a river to save a puppy. You didn’t hydrate because you’re stupid”.

                “Don’t call me stupid”, Enjolras protested, angry. Grantaire was so infuriating! How was this possible? Mere minutes ago they were having a civic conversation, and by now Enjolras wanted to tackle him to the floor.

                “Right, sorry”, Grantaire apologized, sounding only a bit sincere. “But c’mon. Why haven’t you been taking care of yourself?”

                _Because of you_ , Enjolras wanted to say. _Because you died and it was my fault and I still don’t know what to do about this whole mess that my life has become_.

                “I’ve been having a lot in my mind”, Enjolras shrugged, not quite meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “I… I just… forgot”.

                “Hm”, Grantaire hummed simply, shoving both his hands on his hoodie pocket. A tense silence fell between them again, and Enjolras couldn’t take that any longer; if another tense silence appeared he would _scream_ – “Is that why you’ve been acting weird?”, Grantaire continued. Enjolras stared at him, confused.

                “Acting weird?”, he asked. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

                “You’ve never been this… civil to me before”, Grantaire explained with a self-deprecating smile. “I mean… we rarely even spoke outside meetings, and then out of nowhere you start acting as if… as if we’re actually friends”.

                “Well… aren’t we?”, Enjolras asked sadly.

                “We ‘are’”, Grantaire scoffed. “But not like you are friends with the other guys. We’ve always been more… distant, I guess”.

                Enjolras eyed Grantaire sadly, a grieving expression filling his face. He never spared any thought on how the purposeful distance he used to put between himself and Grantaire must have hurt him.

                “Uh oh”, Grantaire muttered, sparing him a quick glance. “Here’s that look again”.

                “What look?”, Enjolras asked.

                “The ‘I accidentally ruined your birthday party and set all your gifts on fire’ look”, Grantaire explained. Enjolras couldn’t keep from giving him a sad chuckle.

                “Sorry”, he said sincerely. “It’s just… I wish we could be closer”, he shrugged, not knowing how to voice what he really wanted. _I like having you beside me. I want to know more about your life. I want to spend time with you. I care about you. I like you. I love you. I’m sorry._

                “We can be”, Grantaire said reassuringly. “We are close to each other right now”, he took Enjolras’ hand in his as if to make a point.

                “I… wanted to know more about you”, Enjolras continued, embarrassed. “I know you do all these amazing stuff with art and boxing and dancing and singing, but I… I’ve never seen it”.

                “Well”, Grantaire chuckled nervously. “You can see it. You just needed to ask, you know”, he smiled, looking pensive. There was a small pause before he spoke again. “I’m going to have a boxing match in three days. Want to come watch?”, he invited.

                “I’d… I’d love that”, Enjolras said, smiling back at the cynic.

                “If you want to, we can even go grab a coffee afterwards”, Grantaire added with a nervous smile. Enjolras’ heart leaped.

                “As… as in a date?”, he asked nervously. Shit. He didn’t know why he had asked that. He was so nervous that his crazed brain took over and started saying things without thinking first and now Grantaire would think he was taking things too quickly and he would end up scaring him off and pushing him away and everything would be ruined between them and –

                “If you want to”, Grantaire shrugged with a sincere smile on his lips. Enjolras was froze on the spot, looking terrified.

                “Do _you_ want to?”, Enjolras ended up asking in his nervousness, and by god, he was about to die right then and there because _what was he doing_.

                “Are you kidding?”, Grantaire scoffed, smiling. Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat. “ _Of course_ I do. But only if you want to”.

                “I…”, Enjolras swallowed dry, trying to recompose himself. “I suppose –“

                Before he could finish, the receptionist called Grantaire over and he gave Enjolras one last unreadable look before disappearing on a hall that she pointed him to. Enjolras barely had any time to organize his thoughts and feelings and _calm the hell down_ before Grantaire returned, puppy in hands and a huge smile on his face.

                “He’s fine!”, Grantaire announced happily. “They vaccinated him and he’s good to go!”, he approached the receptionist and handed her his credit card, making Enjolras stand up and approach him with a frown.

                “What are you doing?”, he asked. Grantaire handed him the puppy as if to shut him up.

                “Uh… paying the bill?” Grantaire said as if it was obvious.

                “Why?”, Enjolras asked, sounding offended.

                “Because… the appointment… needs to be paid for?”, Grantaire said, confused.

                “Yes, but let me pay for it!”, Enjolras protested.

                “You don’t have money on you”, Grantaire stated simply, giving Enjolras an unreadable look. Enjolras blushed, realizing he was right.

                “Fine”, he said, cradling Brownie closer to him as if to relief his embarrassment. The puppy wiggled his tail and liked Enjolras’ hand excitedly. Enjolras’ heart felt like it was about to burst.

                Grantaire finished paying and politely waved his goodbye to the receptionist. Enjolras led the way out to the clinic, and mimicking Grantaire, placed Brownie inside the pocket of his (actually, Grantaire’s) hoodie.

                “Now we need to buy him food”, Grantaire announced, catching up with Enjolras. “We can buy the less essential things for him later, if you want”.

                “Alright”, Enjolras said, clearly embarrassed.

                “Hey, don’t worry about the bill ok?”, Grantaire reassured him. “Like I said, I have his shared custody”.

                Enjolras merely rolled his eyes in response. Even though he didn’t know much about Grantaire, he was aware of his economical struggles. He didn’t even have enough money to pay for rent, which was why he shared an apartment with Joly and Bossuet. All the money he made came from his art and the few dancing presentations he made, while Enjolras still received an unwanted monthly allowance from his (despised) father. It was unfair to have the cynic pay for everything.

                They silently arrived at the market and quickly bought enough dog food to last for a month (Enjolras tried not to think about how the end of that month would be. Would he go to the market by himself to buy the dog food in 30 days, and remember how it felt to have Grantaire beside him? It felt so much easier to pretend that the countdown didn’t exist, and enjoy the moments by Grantaire’s side as they went).

                On the way back to Enjolras’ apartment, Grantaire started making small talk to get rid of the tense silence, talking about his favorite songs to cover and to sing. Surprising no one, Grantaire was very eclectic, and his music taste ranged from classical to k-pop. Enjolras listened attentively, looking Grantaire in the eyes and smiling as he spoke passionately. For someone who declared himself a cynic, Grantaire seemed to care a lot about several things.

                “Do you want to have that soup?”, Enjolras invited as they reached the front of his building.

                “Ah, I really don’t want to work you out”, Grantaire smiled embarrassed.

                “You won’t be”, Enjolras shrugged, idly petting Brownie’s head.

                “Well, I still have to finish those posters you asked me to, remember?” Grantaire said, nervous. Enjolras took the hint and decided not to push him.

                “Alright”, Enjolras said, lowering his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

                “Tomorrow?”, Grantaire frowned, smiling confusedly at him.

                “Yes…?”, Enjolras hesitated.

                “Tomorrow is Sunday”, Grantaire explained. “There are no meetings on Sundays, are there?”, he frowned, startled.

                “Oh, no”, Enjolras said, embarrassed. Crap. He didn’t have a reason to meet Grantaire on the following day. “I just…”, he made up, nervous. “I thought you could come over and… teach me how to take care of the dog?”

                “Oh”, Grantaire said, taken aback. “There isn’t much mystery to it, really”, he chuckled nervously, but the smile quickly died down on his face to give place to a gentler expression. “But I guess I can come over”, he winked at Enjolras.

                “Alright”, Enjolras smiled nervously. What was he supposed to do now? Kiss Grantaire’s cheek? Kiss his lips? Hug him? Just say goodbye? He had no idea how to handle this situation.

                “Well, I think I’ll be on my way now”, Grantaire announced, taking a step forward and towards Enjolras.

                “Ok”, Enjolras said, voice shaking from nervousness. Grantaire smiled sweetly and closed the distance between them.

                Their lips touched gently and briefly in a quick kiss that couldn’t have lasted more than three seconds. It was a mere peck on the lips, but it was enough to make Enjolras’ heart race and leap in his chest. Grantaire stepped back and smirked at the sight of Enjolras’ flushed face.

                “Good night”, he said, blushing himself. Enjolras barely managed to smile back.

                “G-good night”, Enjolras stuttered nervously. Grantaire gave him one last wink before walking away, and Enjolras needed to take a few seconds to recompose himself before twisting the doorknob of the building’s door and pulling it open.

                “Oh, and Apollo!”, Grantaire called from where he was standing by the corner of the street. Enjolras froze on the spot and stared at him, heart racing. “Does this count as a first date?”

                Enjolras blushed even harder, holding the door of his building open.

                “Don’t call me Apollo!”, was what he yelled in response, feigning annoyance. Grantaire burst into laughter and disappeared into the corner, the sound of his ridiculous giggling lingering behind him and echoing through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was physically painful to write


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

When Enjolras woke up on the following morning, he solemnly ignored the countdown on his nightstand and grabbed his phone, which was vibrating loudly. He let out a sigh when he realized how late it was (10 p.m.) and, as he unlocked the screen, he wondered how he had managed to sleep so much. Ever since Grantaire’s… departure, he hadn’t been able to catch a proper night of sleep, and after their kiss on the previous night, his heart couldn’t seem to calm down. Actually, Enjolras didn’t remember falling asleep at all, so he assumed that he must have passed out from exhaustion.

                Slightly annoyed at the interruption of his rare sleep, but checking his messages anyway, Enjolras’ heart immediately raced as he realized that the person who had texted him was Grantaire. All thoughts of annoyance disappeared from his mind as he propped himself into a sitting position on the bed, phone in hand. Taking a deep breath, he opened the conversation with the man, which had a single message.

                **From: Grantaire (09:59) You never told me what time I’m supposed to be there Apollo ;)**

                Enjolras rolled his eyes at the use of the despised nickname and ignored the shakiness of his hands as he typed a response.

**To: Grantaire (10:01) Don’t call me that. And whatever time suits you best**

                Enjolras told himself that there was no reason for him to be nervous, even though his breaths were coming out in shaky huffs. After waiting for a few seconds that felt like minutes without receiving any sort of response from Grantaire, he decided to get up and start his day. He did shove the phone inside the hoodie’s pocket, ready to answer Grantaire as soon as he answered his text.

                Enjolras had completely forgotten about Brownie – a twinge of guilt crossed his heart upon this realization – and he nearly tripped when he stepped out of the bed, barely avoiding to step on the excited puppy’s paws. He intertwined himself between Enjolras’ legs, preventing him from walking properly, and the leader sat back down on the mattress, bending over and picking Brownie up. The puppy waggled his tail contently, licking the hand that was holding him up. Enjolras couldn’t help but to smile at this. He had always liked animals, only didn’t spare much time to pay attention or care to them. The eagerness of the puppy was something that made his heart warm inside his chest, and he cradled Brownie closer to his chest in a hug of sorts. The puppy gave a tiny, barely audible bark, which made Enjolras giggle.

                “Let’s get you some food, shall we?”, he asked the puppy, getting back up and carrying the small animal with no difficulty whatsoever. The puppy was small enough to fit Enjolras’ hand.

                The leader picked up the bowl that Grantaire had purchased on the night before and filled it with the puppy’s food, which was designed especially to baby dogs. The dog’s tail waggled even more, if that was possible, and he forgot about Enjolras for a while as the leader placed him on the floor in front of the bowl. Enjolras then made his way to the bathroom, and was on the process of brushing his teeth when the phone inside his hoodie finally vibrated. He fished it out with just one hand, unlocking the screen as he finished to rinse his mouth.

**From: Grantaire (10:08) Sorry I got caught up with Joly’s daily health check lmao**

**From: Grantaire (10:08) But honestly I’m free all day so whenever u want me to come over is fine**

                Enjolras sighed, unsure of what to respond. He didn’t want to sound too eager and didn’t want to sound dismissing either. A sudden idea crossed his mind, and he hoped he wasn’t overstepping any possible boundary as he typed out his reply.

**To: Grantaire (10:09) How about lunch, then?**

                He nervously stepped back into the kitchen, phone in hand, meaning to make himself some breakfast. Instead, he sat by the kitchen counter, waiting for Grantaire to respond. Brownie resumed his eating and went back to intertwining himself between Enjolras’ legs.

**From: Grantaire (10:10) Didn’t know you could cook ;-)**

                Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately at the use of the winking face.

**To: Grantaire (10:11) Actually, I can’t. I was thinking about going out for food? Or delivery, I don’t know. What would you prefer?**

                Enjolras picked the puppy up and cradled him on his lap, absentmindedly caressing the spot behind his ears.

**From: Grantaire (10:12) And leave the poor puppy alone?!?!?! What kind of parent are you?**

                Enjolras’ face dropped, heart pounding faster. The conversation wasn’t going exactly the way he had intended it to, and somehow he felt as if he was pushing things. Grantaire didn’t exactly sound like he wanted to go out with Enjolras, and oh, maybe he didn’t, right? Enjolras was acting weird, he had said so himself; and with everything that happened over the course of those past few days, maybe Grantaire had grown disenchanted. After all, he had fallen in love with the Enjolras from before, the Enjolras who was distant, unattainable and cold. Enjolras was now acting warmly towards him; he was being receptive and affectionate and maybe that wasn’t what Grantaire wanted. Maybe he had fallen in love with an ideal Enjolras, and maybe Enjolras was screwing everything up. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to crush on Grantaire. He shouldn’t have allowed his feelings to take the best of him, he shouldn’t have gotten drunk, he shouldn’t have nearly kissed Grantaire on their first ever civic encounter outside a meeting, he shouldn’t have opened himself so easily and so quickly. Grantaire must have thought that too weird, he must have been driven off by Enjolras’ eagerness, he must have –

                His torrent of anxious thoughts was cut off by the vibration of his phone, still clutched in his hand. Enjolras allowed himself to take a deep breath and read the message, simultaneously trying to stay calm.

**From: Grantaire (10:14) I’m just kidding, Apollo. But I rly don’t think it’s a good idea to leave the puppy alone; we could order something out lmao**

                Enjolras didn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed by Grantaire calling him Apollo again; the only thing that mattered was that the cynic wasn’t disgusted by him and had actually accepted to have lunch with Enjolras. He took another deep breath before typing a response, but just as he was about to hit send, Grantaire sent him another message.

**From: Grantaire (10:14) Or maybe I could cook smth for us. What do u feel like eating?**

                Enjolras blinked dumbly at the screen for a few seconds, trying to compute what Grantaire had just said. He was willing to cook them lunch? As wonderful as that sounded – Enjolras could remember how delicious the pancakes Grantaire cooked were, even as nauseous as he had been – he didn’t want to exploit Grantaire’s good will or make him feel obliged to anything.

**To: Grantaire (10:15) That sounds wonderful but I don’t want you to feel compelled to do anything.**

                The response was shorter and dryer than Enjolras would have liked but again, he was too insecure to speak freely with Grantaire and end up pushing him away.

                He shouldn’t have allowed himself to fall in love. Look just how stressed and anxious he was. Screw Courfeyrac for making him self-aware of his own feelings; Enjolras would have preferred ignorance.

**From: Grantaire (10:16) lol since when can anyone compel me to do anything Apollo? I’m offering bc I actually enjoy cooking and u still haven’t tasted my amazing food properly**

                Enjolras smiled affectionately, feeling the conversation was starting to flow a bit more easily.

**To: Grantaire (10:16) I did taste your pancakes.**

**From: Grantaire (10:17) they don’t count, they’re not actual food**

**From: Grantaire (10:17) but tell me, what do u feel like eating?**

                Brownie begun to lick Enjolras’ free hand absentmindedly as if to show him affection and call his attention at the same time. Enjolras realized he had stopped caressing the puppy in his distraction and went right back to it.

**To: Grantaire (10:18) I have no idea. Why don’t you surprise me?**

                Grantaire’s response took a while longer to arrive, and Enjolras, impatiently nervous, stood up from the kitchen counter and began to pace. He soon found himself back in his bedroom, lying down on his bed and breakfast completely forgotten. Brownie cradled against Enjolras’ stomach to take a nap.

**From: Grantaire (10:21) but how am I supposed to know what u like to eat??**

                Another twinge of guilt made Enjolras’ stomach churn as the regret from not being too close to Grantaire before hit him once again. He tried to put it aside and, not wanting Grantaire to notice that there was something different about him – as he seemed to always be able to do –, Enjolras used the bickering that they were used to as some sort of defense mechanism.

**To: Grantaire (10:22) Do you really think that I worry about whether I like a food or not when I eat, knowing that there are so many people suffering from inanition and starvation across the world?**

                He could picture perfectly the eyeroll Grantaire must have given him, and didn’t contain a smirk at the thought.

**From: Grantaire (10:23) fine Apollo whatever u say lmao**

**From: Grantaire (10:23) at what time am I supposed to be there then?**

**To: Grantaire (10:24) Whenever you’re ready. I’m also free for the rest of the day.**

**From: Grantaire (10:25) which is rly weird tbh**

**From: Grantaire (10:25) aren’t u always working on speeches and papers and etc?**

                Enjolras didn’t quite have a response to that. It was true: he was always working, even on Sunday mornings, whether on a simple speech or on a seminary. But ever since Grantaire’s death, he couldn’t find it in himself to write encouraging speeches about fighting the status quo, or about rioting against the norms. Not after the results of that.

                But Enjolras knew that his friends would start to notice and question him about his lack of passion if he didn’t do anything for too long. There would be a meeting on the following day, and Enjolras hadn’t prepared anything. He couldn’t keep asking Combeferre to lead meetings over the course of the thirty days; it wouldn’t be fair to his friend and it would raise too much suspicion. He needed to get back to work, as much as he wanted to pass time with Grantaire.

                Maybe Grantaire himself could give him the necessary motivation to go back to writing speeches and planning meetings. After all, the cynic had always been able to stir something inside of Enjolras that made him want to be defiant.

                He hated himself a little bit for it. Since when had he become dependent on others to feel _passionate_?

                Enjolras was a passionate man. It was one of his defining traits. He was moved by passion, passion for his Patria, passion for his friends, passion for liberty and justice. He had never needed anyone to stir that feeling into him, but again, he hadn’t felt much like himself ever since Grantaire’s death. He felt like a shell of himself, like the fire inside him had died out. For god’s sake, Enjolras had rarely cried in his whole life, and now he felt like crying every day. There was something wrong with him, and he knew it was because he watched Grantaire die. He knew he was traumatized. But he didn’t know what he could possibly do to go back to being his older self, the person that everyone loved and cared about. Would his friends still respect and care for him as much as they did once they found out Enjolras had changed?

                No, he couldn’t lose his friends too. He had to find a way to feel the passion inside him again. He had to.

**To: Grantaire (10:28) I decided to take this weekend off, that’s all. I’ll go back to it tomorrow.**

**From: Grantaire (10:28) lmao that’s odd tho you never take ‘weekends off’**

**From: Grantaire (10:29) I know we’ve never been too close but u know u can count on me if u need anything right?**

                Enjolras sighed. He knew that, even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to simply end his crush on Grantaire. Not when he knew that he was willing to die for him. Now when he knew how Grantaire felt about him.

**To: Grantaire (10:30) I know. Thank you, R.**

**To: Grantaire (10:30) You can also count on me if you need anything.**

                Grantaire’s response took longer to arrive, and Enjolras caught himself imagining the man’s reaction to his words. Enjolras knew and admitted he had never been exactly kind towards Grantaire, as much as he had been polite or, at least, civic. And even if he knew that his last text must have served only as a confirmation that there must have been something wrong with Enjolras, he couldn’t regret sending it. He needed Grantaire to know that he was cared for and that he could reach for Enjolras for help. He wanted him to know that.

**From: Grantaire (10:34) uhh thanks apollo**

**From: Grantire (10:35) well im gonna go buy stuff for our lunch rn then, see you in a bit**

**To: Grantaire (10:36) Alright, see you. Take care.**

                Enjolras finally locked his phone screen and placed the device on the bed beside him, ignoring the ache on his hand, which had been lifted for too long to sustain the phone. Brownie was napping quietly on his belly, back rising and falling with each breath and in unison with Enjolras’ own breathing. He picked the puppy up as gently as he could, not wanting to wake him up, and calmly placed him on his makeshift bed by Enjolras’ own. Grantaire was coming over and Enjolras urgently needed a shower. He didn’t even need to look in a mirror to see how much of a mess he must look like.

                He took Grantaire’s hoodie off (he was still wearing and didn’t even notice it) and held it in his hands for a few seconds. Aware of how creepy that probably was and just a bit embarrassed about it, he pulled it closed to his face, inhaling the fabric in search for Grantaire’s scent. It was there, but just barely – Enjolras’ own scent had covered most of it. But he could still feel the faint odor of whisky, Grantaire’s cheap cologne and a bit of sweat that wasn’t an unpleasant smell at all. Feeling himself blush and hating himself for it, Enjolras placed the hoodie on the top of his sink along with his sweatpants and underwear, and then stepped in the shower.

                Enjolras loved taking long showers, because they were usually his only source of relaxation through the days and so he always tried to take the most of them. This time, though, he told himself he would be quick, since Grantaire had said he would only shop for groceries and then come over. Which reminded him, he owed Grantaire money. Not only had he paid for Brownie’s appointment on the vet, but he had also spent money on dog food and now on food for their lunch. God. How come Grantaire was so generous, when he owed so little money? Why would he selflessly give it away, when he needed it so much? He faintly reminded an occasion at the Musain, when Grantaire had told Joly and Bossuet that, had he been rich, there wouldn’t be a single poor person in the world anymore. And Enjolras believed him.

                For as much of a cynic Grantaire was, he was selfless, and gentle, and kind. He surely had defects: he drunk too much, and he loved playing the devil’s advocate, especially with Enjolras. He could be obnoxiously loud, sometimes, and he rarely put any effort into actively doing things to help others. But mostly, he helped people in other ways that didn’t involve Enjolras’ cause, such as helping to carry an old lady’s bags of groceries, or getting out of his way to help a blind person find their destination. These were all stories Enjolras had heard his friends talk about, and he could only regret not getting to know this side of Grantaire before it was too late.

                He really had feelings for the cynic, there was no denying it now. Just the thought of Grantaire made butterflies appear in his stomach, but the thought of Grantaire dancing, or boxing, or _helping people_ in need made something else stir inside of Enjolras.

                Enjolras wasn’t celibate, as Grantaire enjoyed teasing him about. He _did_ have a sex drive, though it didn’t seem to be as strong or as frequent as other people’s. The truth was he rarely put thought into having sex, and thus, it wasn’t a priority for him. His priority was his Patria, and sex would probably only get in the way of accomplishing his goals.

                But now, Enjolras couldn’t tell whether it was due to the emotional instability he was going through, or the need to relieve the stress, or just the blossoming feelings and thoughts about Grantaire that hadn’t been there before. He could feel his erection growing, and felt ashamed, despite of himself. Enjolras had only touched himself once or twice over the course of his 22 years, but now his cock begun to stir to life and Enjolras couldn’t suppress the overwhelming urge to close his hand around it. God, he was so despicable, wasn’t he? Here he was, _pleasing_ himself, thinking about a man who gave him everything but that Enjolras didn’t bother to spare a scrap of attention until he properly lost him. He didn’t deserve to feel this pleasure.

                And yet, thoughts of Grantaire’s body close to his, thoughts of his lips enveloping Enjolras’ lips, his tongue caressing Enjolras’ tongue, and neck, and shoulder blade, and nipples, and waist, and his –

                He yelped and had to lean on the wall for balance as the bobbing movements of his hand increased in speed. He thought of Grantaire, naked, and of the size of his cock – because as much as Enjolras respected his privacy and did his best not to look, he wasn’t able to avoid noticing the _size_ of Grantaire’s length as he stepped out of the shower – and how good it would feel to be filled by it, to be filled by Grantaire, to have him have his way with Enjolras and to rock back against him to give him pleasure, to make him feel good, because Grantaire deserved to feel good, he would deserve it even if he hadn’t taken a bullet in Enjolras’ place.

                And then Enjolras remembered it, he remembered the blood and the wrecked sounds Grantaire made as he tried to breathe through the pain, he remembered the way his life blood quickly spread into a puddle beneath him, and how his last words were weak calls of Enjolras’ name. Enjolras’ breath hitched in his throat and he no longer felt the pleasure, only the overwhelming guilt building in his chest and making it harder to breathe. He let go of his erection, which was still half-hard despite of his sudden rush of thoughts, and just as he was about to give in to his weight and slide down against the wet wall of the bathroom, a rush of rapping sounds echoed faintly across the apartment, sound muffled by the water and by the closed bathroom door. Grantaire must have arrived and, for the way he was knocking on the door, he must have been ringing the doorbell for quite a while. Enjolras, trembling, picked the towel from the hanger and tied it around his waist, running to get the door.

                He hadn’t expected to see Grantaire blush as soon as he saw him, and couldn’t prevent the blood from rising to his own face, too. He saw the way Grantaire’s eyes inevitably studied Enjolras’ half-naked form, politely stopping before they could reach Enjolras’ lower waist and darting upwards to the ceiling. He swallowed dry, shifting the weight of the grocery bags between his hands.

                “Sorry, I should have… I… I got here too soon”, Grantaire said. He must have seen the embarrassment on Enjolras’ eyes, and the leader tried his best not to show his own embarrassment. After all, he had just been masturbating to the thought of Grantaire.

                “Sorry, I was in the shower”, he explained, voice shaky. Grantaire nodded, blatantly avoiding to meet Enjolras’ gaze.

                “No problem”, he said, more politely than usual.

                “I’ll… I’ll just finish it really quickly”, Enjolras said, finally stepping aside so that Grantaire could enter the apartment. He did so, still shifting the bags as if he was unsure of what to do. “You can go ahead and start getting things prepared, though. I’ll be right back”.

                “Alright”, Grantaire nodded. Enjolras tried not to literally run his way back to the bathroom, though he would admit that he nearly jogged. He took in several deep breaths as if to calm his thumping heart, and stepped back into his shower to resume it. Realizing with embarrassment that he hadn’t even gotten to washing his hair before his failed, pathetic attempt at pleasuring himself, he quickly untangled his curls and washed them with his best shampoo. He took what probably was the quickest shower of his life, and in less than five minutes, he was stepping out of it and rushing to his bedroom to put some clothes on. Brownie had woken up from his nap and decided that was a good moment to jump and intertwine himself around Enjolras legs, which made him, who was already nervous enough, trip and fall to the ground with a loud yelp. As he struggled against the towel, which had tangled around his legs, the dog, who was still jumping around excitedly as if it hadn’t just made Enjolras trip, and his own legs, which were wobbly and weak, he heard a shy knock on the closed door of his bedroom.

                “Are you alright?”, Grantaire’s voice resonated from the hall. He sounded worried, albeit curious.

                “Yes!”, Enjolras responded, too quickly. He managed to free himself from the towel and to push Brownie away enough to stand up without tripping again. He was panting, both from the nervousness and from the unusual effort it took to stand up. “I’m just fine. I’ll be right out”.

                “Ok”, Grantaire said. Enjolras could notice the suspicion in his tone, but didn’t have time to think about it. He threw the wet towel on his bed and picked up the still jumping, barely barking dog from the floor and put him on his bed. Opening his wardrobe, he picked up a red shirt and a comfortable pair of pants to wear, along with black boxers. In less than a minute, he was dressed up, and the only challenge would be his hair. He couldn’t tie it into a bun like he was used to, since it was still dripping, and to leave it loose felt weird even for him. It didn’t seem like there was another option, though, and Enjolras only hoped that Grantaire didn’t mind seeing him with his hair loose like that. Taking a final, deep intake of breath, he stepped out of the room.

                Grantaire was in the kitchen, whistling absentmindedly as he cooked. He raised an eyebrow as soon as he saw Enjolras, and the song he was whistling quickly changed tune to become a wolf-whistle. Enjolras mustered all the strength he had to prevent himself from blushing, sitting by the kitchen counter to watch Grantaire cook instead.

                “You should leave you hair like that more often”, Grantaire commented, giving Enjolras one last look before turning back to cooking. “It suits you”.

                “Thank you”, Enjolras said, lowering his head to hide a smile. “So, what are you cooking for me”, he cleared his throat, “I mean, for us?”

                Grantaire turned his head back just enough for Enjolras to see his smirk before staring back at the pot in his hands.

                “Didn’t you ask me to surprise you?”, he commented, teasingly. Enjolras rolled his eyes as soon as Grantaire turned to face him, but there was a smile on his lips.

                “Alright, then, I’ll wait”, he responded. “I just hope it tastes as good as it smells”, he added. It did smell delicious.

                “Thank you, my good sir”, Grantaire jested. “It’s almost ready”.

                There was an easy silence in which none of them felt the need to say anything. Eventually, Grantaire broke the silence while he resumed cooking.

                “What happened in your bedroom, though? I thought I heard you screaming”, he commented absentmindedly.

                “It wasn’t a _scream_ ”, Enjolras immediately protested, sounding childish. “It was a yelp. I tripped and fell, that’s all”.

                Grantaire raised an amused eyebrow, stirring the pot.

                “You tripped and fell?”, he repeated, sounding humorous.

                “Yes, Brownie keeps intertwining himself between my legs and I didn’t want to step on him so I ended up falling”, Enjolras explained, just a little bit embarrassed.

                “Always the martyr”, Grantaire chuckled, but Enjolras felt as if he had been punched in the chest. No smile reached his lips, and his eyes darted downwards as Grantaire’s words sunk in. The irony of that phrase made Enjolras lose his appetite, even though Grantaire’s food smelt delicious.

                Grantaire, on the other hand, was oblivious to Enjolras’ reaction, and started to pick up the dishes at the same time he stirred the pot. Enjolras took a while to notice that, but as soon as he did, he stood up from his sit so quickly that he nearly knocked the chair back. Grantaire looked at him through the corner of his eye and Enjolras approached him, taking the dishes from his hand politely.

                “Leave that to me”, he said simply, doing his best not to sound as upset as he felt. Grantaire finally finished cooking whatever he was cooking, and turned the stove off. Enjolras walked to his living room and set the dining table, placing the plates and the tableware in a neat fashion. He had just sat down by the table when Grantaire arrived with the cooking pot, and with one simple and elegant gesture, he placed the food on Enjolras’ plate.

                “I present to you R’s infamous spaghetti”, Grantaire said, filling his own plate. “I hope you like it”, he said, less confidently, as he sat on the table in front of Enjolras and eyed him wearily.

                “I’m sure it’s great”, Enjolras smiled reassuringly at Grantaire. As if to prove his point, he picked up his fork and took a mouthful of the spaghetti, which did taste as delicious as it smelt. It was enough to make Enjolras’ appetite return, even if just a bit, and he found himself devouring the food, just then realizing how hungry he was feeling. Grantaire chuckled and begun to eat his food too, albeit slower than Enjolras.

                “God, this is delicious”, Enjolras said, looking at Grantaire with astonishment. “Where did you learn how to cook?”

                “Ah, it’s a family recipe. My mom taught me the basics, but my grandma was my true mentor”, Grantaire shrugged. He did look a bit uncomfortable. “But I’m mostly self-taught”.

                “Wow”, Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “If you taught yourself how to cook like this, then you’re way more talented than I first thought”, he said, and it was only after the words left his mouth that he realized how they sounded and, more importantly, how Grantaire must have interpreted them. He looked up to see the cynic lower his head slightly, the dreaded self-deprecating look tinging his lips once more. Enjolras’s heart tightened. “No, this isn’t what I meant”, he added quickly, heart racing. Why did he always screw up when it came to Grantaire?

                “It’s ok, I understand”, Grantaire snorted, not meeting Enjolras eyes and continuing to eat.

                “No, really, I mean it”, Enjolras said, preventing the urge to face slap. “No, I didn’t… ah, crap”, he let go of the fork, which clattered loudly against his plate. Grantaire looked up at him, confused, half-way through a bite.

                “Really, Enjolras, it’s fine”, he reassured, sounding as if he thought Enjolras was a mad person.

                “It’s really not, is it?”, Enjolras shook his head, leaning back against his seat. He was so tired and stressed. He should probably just keep his mouth shut before he could make a fool of himself, but he simultaneously wanted to make Grantaire _understand_. He needed him to understand. “I don’t know why it is that I always manage to make a fool of myself when I’m with you”, he sighed, not daring to meet Grantaire’s eyes.

                “Enj?”, Grantaire asked, urging, when Enjolras didn’t continue.

                “I don’t…”, Enjolras sighed, hating himself for the tears that became to form in his eyes. He itched the back of his hand nervously, almost glad to have an excuse to have something to look at instead of avoiding Grantaire’s eyes. “I didn’t mean you’re talentless, R”, he sighed, resigned. “Actually, I meant exactly the opposite. I think you’re amazing and talented and just so… incredible, but whenever I’m near you, I always end up saying the wrong words and I’m sorry”.

                “Enjolras, it’s fine, honestly”, Grantaire tried to reassure him, outstretching a hand and placing upon Enjolras’ itchy one. Enjolras shyly met his eyes. “It’s ok, I’ve already forgotten about it, alright?”

                “Alright”, Enjolras nodded, feeling a hitch in his throat. He picked up his fork again, taking another mouthful before Grantaire spoke.

                “I’m glad you liked my cooking”, the cynic smiled. There was a small pause in which none of them spoke, too busy chewing, but Grantaire seemed to be desperate to get Enjolras to talk. “How is it going with Brownie? Apart from all the leg intertwining and stuff”, he chuckled.

                “Oh, it’s –“, Enjolras started, but was immediately interrupted by a coughing fit. He covered his mouth with a hand and took a sip of the glass of water beside his plate, trying to calm down. It was probably just nervousness, this was something usual for him – whenever he got too nervous, he’d end up having either coughing fits or lack of air. He gestured to a worried Grantaire that he was fine, before downing the rest of the water in an attempt to ease the itch on his throat. It didn’t help, and Enjolras soon found himself wheezing loudly in between coughs. What a great moment for this to happen. God. He was ruining this date with Grantaire, first with the delay to get to the door, then with the accidental insult, and now with this coughing fit. Grantaire would probably end up thinking that Enjolras had hated his food, and Enjolras couldn’t have that. He tried to look Grantaire in the eye to somehow let him know that this whole coughing thing wasn’t his food’s fault, when he finally realized that his eyesight was blurry and limited.

                “Oh my fucking god, Enjolras”, Grantaire said, getting up from his seat so quickly that he bumped on the table, making the plates rattle. He rushed to Enjolras’ side, kneeling down beside him and taking his face into his hands. “Holy shit, what are you allergic to?”

                Enjolras tried to speak, but found he was breathless. In fact, his lungs were starting to ache painfully as he tried to suck in large gulps of air. The wheezing sound he was making was disgustingly terrifying, and it faintly reminded him of the sounds that Grantaire had made before he passed out from blood loss. Tears welled up in Enjolras’ eyes as he tried to breathe through his anaphylaxis, and Grantaire wasted no time. He picked one of Enjolras’ arms and passed it around his shoulder, carrying most of Enjolras weight and rushing to the front door.

                “What is it, peanuts or basil?”, Grantaire asked him, despair evident in his voice even to Enjolras’ half-conscious form. Enjolras tried to answer, but once again, he lacked the breath to do so. Instead, he wheezed loudly, tripping on his own legs and too weak to stand upright. He was being basically dragged by Grantaire now, legs refusing to move. All he could do was concentrate on breathing, or at least try to, since he was basically suffocating. Grantaire then passed an arm beneath Enjolras’ legs and picked him up bridal style, which made the situation easier for both of them. He was able to run now, rushing desperately towards the nearest hospital while the half-conscious Enjolras still gasped and wheezed on his arms. “Peanuts or basil, Enjolras!” Grantaire urged again, his voice high-pitched due to the fear. Enjolras finally managed to huff out a weak ‘pean’ts”, before his head, which had been resting against Grantaire’s chest, fell back and began to shake up and down from all the running.

                Grantaire, then, more desperate than ever, couldn’t contain a desperate sob. He finally reached the hospital, bursting through the door and rushing to the reception table, Enjolras’ limp body clutched closely to his chest, wheezes barely audible now. Immediately, two nurses approached them, taking Enjolras from his arms despite of Grantaire’s reluctance. He nervously told the woman on the reception that Enjolras was having an allergic reaction to peanuts, and as soon as she told him that he could accompany Enjolras as he received the proper treatment, Grantaire basically ran through the corridors of the hospital to try and find the leader, who was already lying down on one of the hospital beds at the emergency room.

                Grantaire gave the nurses enough space so that they could work, ignoring the tears that were welling in his eyes. He nervously threw his hair back with both hands, watching as they placed a nebulizer against Enjolras’ face and injected him with something, and then he was hit with the sudden realization that he should let someone know about Enjolras’ condition. His first thought, of course, was Combeferre, and he fished his phone out of his pocket with shaky hands to dial the guide’s number. Combeferre, as usual, picked up after the second ring.

                “Hey, R”, he greeted cheerfully, but he must have noticed there was something wrong from the way Grantaire’s breaths were coming out huffed and hitched. “What is it? What’s wrong?”, Combeferre asked right away, suddenly alert.

                “I’m in the hospital with Enjolras”, Grantaire couldn’t help but to half-sob, covering his face with his spare hand. “He had an allergic reaction”, Grantaire explained, voice shaky. He could hear Combeferre’s harsh intake of breath, and the muffled sound of an unintelligible order being given.

                “I am on my way”, Combeferre announced, and then the line went dead. Grantaire put the phone back in his pocket at the same time a nurse approached him.

                “He’s going to be fine, but he needs to stay here for a few hours so we can keep a close eye on him”, she told Grantaire, who immediately sighed in relief. “We just hit him with an anti-allergic and the nebulizer should aid his breathing. He’s probably going to get really sleepy, but that’s normal”.

                “Thank you”, Grantaire nodded, sniffing and trying to recompose himself. The nurse went away and he approached Enjolras, who was blinking sluggishly, eyes still swollen. Grantaire tried to smile at him as a sort of reassuring, even though it looked more pained than anything. “Hey. How are you?”

                Enjolras turned his head towards Grantaire, somewhat dizzy. Grantaire dared to allow one of his hands to caress Enjolras’ hair, pulling the awry curls back. Enjolras closed his eyes, leaning closer to the touch.

                “I’m sorry”, Grantaire whispered, feeling guiltier than ever. “I’m so, so sorry, Enjolras”.

                Enjolras reoped his eyes lazily. He wasn’t able to speak, so he merely nodded, meeting Grantaire’s guilty gaze and trying to transmit, through just the look, that it was ok, that he didn’t blame him, that it wasn’t his fault.

                “I should have asked you if you were allergic to anything, it was stupid of me not to ask”, Grantaire shook his head, looking away from Enjolras’ swollen face. “I’m really, really sorry”.

                Enjolras raised a hand, which was hooked to an IV, to take Grantaire’s into his. He squeezed the cynic’s hand, all the while caressing the back of it with his thumb. Grantaire watched as Enjolras took his hand and placed it on the top of his own chest, as if to make sure that Grantaire felt the leader’s heartbeat.

                As if to make sure Grantire knew he was alive.

                Grantaire smiled, then, tears still welled in his eyes. How could Enjolras be so amazing? He didn’t deserve him. He could never deserve him.

                They were sharing this peaceful little moment, Grantaire’s hand resting on the top of Enjolras’ chest, and Enjolras’ hand resting on the top of Grantaire’s, and it felt more private and close than their lunch had been, and that was silent and quiet enough until Combeferre arrived with Courfeyrac on his heels.

                “What the hell happened?”, Combeferre asked, composed, at the same time Courfeyrac shrieked: “Oh my god, Enjolras, your face!”

                “It will go back to normal”, Combeferre rolled his eyes at Courfeyrac, clearly grumpy with the stress. Then he turned his attention back to Grantaire while Courfeyrac went to the other side to the bed so that he could speak to Enjolras. Combeferre nodded quietly to the corner of the emergency room, and Grantaire followed him, missing the way Enjolras whimpered at the loss of the hand on the top of his chest.

                “What _happened_?”, Combeferre asked him, voice merely above a whisper. He looked angry and worried.

                “Enjolras invited me for lunch”, Grantaire explained, not whispering like Combeferre but speaking in his normal tone of voice. “Since he couldn’t leave his apartment because of the dog, I offered myself to cook for us”.

                “Dog?”, Combeferre frowned, confused. “What dog?”

                “I saw a puppy drowning so I saved it and gave it to Enjolras”, Grantaire explained, waving a hand dismissingly. “Anyway, I asked him what he wanted me to cook, and he told me to surprise him, so I decided to cook spaghetti with peanuts and basil. It’s a recipe from my mother, but I didn’t know he was allergic”.

                “Well?”, Combeferre asked, raising an eyebrow. He was looking at Grantaire as if he was a stupid child who had messed up. “Why didn’t you ask him?”

                “What?”, Grantaire asked dumbly, confused. Combeferre had never sounded so mean and angry at him, and that made him weary.

                “Why didn’t you fucking ask him if he had any allergies?”, Combeferre asked, louder this time. He was swearing, which was so rare that it could only mean that he was really, _really_ angry at Grantaire. “You don’t even _know_ Enjolras and you just decide to cook for him before asking if he has any allergies first?”

                Grantaire was taken aback by this, blinking at Combeferre with surprise. He didn’t know what he could say, he knew the man was right. He should have asked. But why hadn’t he?

                “I… I don’t know”, Grantaire admitted, quite aware of how stupid and irresponsible that sounded. “I was distracted, I didn’t think –“

                “That’s right”, Combeferre scolded. “You didn’t _think_ ”.

                Combeferre’s tone of voice made something akin to annoyance rise within Grantaire’s chest, and he found himself replying with equal anger.

                “Well, it’s not like I fucking meant to poison him”, Grantaire refuted. “I would have never done this on purpose, to _anyone”_.

                “Well, on purpose or not, you did it!”, Combeferre burst. They were getting dangerously near to shouting at each other now, and were already drawing looks from the people at the emergency room. “Do you realize that Enjolras could have died?”

                “Yes, I am quite aware, thank you”, Grantaire snarled, a scowl in his face. “You don’t need to rub this on my face, I already feel guilty enough –“

                “You’re not good to him!”, Combeferre added, interrupting Grantaire, who went immediately silent, mouth slightly ajar. Combeferre stared at him for seconds that felt like an eternity before continuing, more composed than before. “You’re not good to him”, he repeated. Grantaire stared silently. “First you make him get shitfaced, which I didn’t complain about because I didn’t want to seem like the party pooper, but then you take a, a dog? A dog you found on the street, and you give it to him, without even knowing what diseased he may have?”

                “We took him to a vet”, Grantaire explained, to no avail.

                “And then you feed him peanuts, even though every single person who knows Enjolras also knows he’s allergic to goddamn peanuts!”, Combeferre continued, unaffected. “He’s been losing weight and sleep because of you, and he’s more stressed and unfocused than I’ve ever seen him, Grantaire. You’re doing him no good”.

                Grantaire merely stared at Combeferre, swallowing dry and slowly tearing his eyes away from the man’s form until they were glued to the ground. He nodded once, blinking the tears away, and he didn’t look at Combeferre when he said, voice small and hoarse:

                “Fine. I’ll be on my way, then”.

                And then, before anyone could do anything, Grantaire turned on his heels and left.

                Combeferre lowered his head, huffing out a heavy breath. Sudden guilt hit him as he realized the weight of his words. He felt even worse as he remembered that Grantaire might die in less than a month, but his anger and protectiveness over Enjolras had been so strong during the heat of the moment that he didn’t keep track of what he was saying. As much as none of what he said had been lies, he was aware that it wasn’t Grantaire’s fault, that it had been just an accident. He definitely owed an apology to the cynic.

                 He walked back to Enjolras’ bedside with heavy steps, sighing in defeat and guilt. Enjolras was looking up at him with confused, tear-filled eyes, which were still swollen. Courfeyrafc, on the other hand, was eyeing Combeferre with disapproval and shock, and his best efforts to stop Enjolras from removing the nebulizer from his face went to waste.

                “Where’s R?”, Enjolras asked, voice raspy and tiny. Combeferre looked away from his friend.

                “We had a small fight and he left”, Combeferre explained. “I’ll talk to him later”.

                “Wha’ did you say to him?”, Enjolras asked, coughing slightly.

                “Go back to the nebulizer, Enjolras. I’ll talk to Grantaire and make things right”, Combeferre instructed.

                “I heard you”, Enjolras croaked. Combeferre finally met his eyes, somewhat ashamed. “Bu’ I want you to tell me”.

                Combeferre sighed, lowering his eyes once more.

                “I told him he was not good for you”, Combeferre admitted.

                Enjolras huffed out a breath, looking away from Combeferre and shaking his head. There were tears in his eyes again.

                “How… Why would you do tha’?”, Enjolras asked, incredulous.

                “It’s true, though, isn’t it?”, Combeferre asked, allowing the stress to take the best of him once more and valuing his pride. “You haven’t been sleeping or eating because of him. You haven’t been writing or working and you’ve been neglecting yourself. He wouldn’t want you to do that, either, if he knew. I can’t stand to watch you destroy yourself like this, Enjolras, and despite of the whole countdown thing, if pushing him away is the best for your health, then –“

                “I won’t push him away!”, Enjolras immediately protested, sounding furious despite of his current physical state. “Don’t ever speak on my behalf on matters you know nothing of!”, he scolded, albeit breathless, and Combeferre lowered his head once more.

                “What the hell is going on here, guys?”, Courfeyrac asked, clearly confused. “Self-destruction? Countdown? What is all this about?”. When neither Combeferre nor Enjolras spoke, both avoiding to look anywhere near each other’s general direction, Courfeyrac tried again. “Hello? Will anyone tell me what’s going on?”

                There was a long silence in which only the sounds of the emergency room could be heard, but Enjolras was the one who broke it.

                “Tell him”, he said, and he didn’t need to look at Combeferre to let the man know that he was addressing him. “But not here. In private”. Then he placed the nebulizer back against his face, lying back down against the pillows and closing his eyes.

                “Enjolras, I’m sorry”, Combeferre breathed out. He hated getting into fights with Enjolras, because neither of them ever apologized to each other. This time, however, he knew he was in the wrong, and Enjolras was lying in a hospital bed. He wanted no beef with his best friend. “I know it was wrong of me to say what I said to Grantaire. I’ll speak to him, ok?”

                Enjolras merely nodded, not bothering to open his eyes. He looked breathless and weak.

                “So?”, Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, waiting for answers.

                “Not here, Courf. We’ll talk about this when Enjolras is out of the hospital”, Combeferre sighed.

                “But…”, Courfeyrac started to protest.

                “He’ll be released in a few hours”, Combeferre cut him off before he could continue. “We’ll speak then, ok? I’m going to get us a coffee. Keep Enjolras company”, he said, and before Courfeyrac could protest, Combeferre walked out of the emergency room.

                As he stood by the hospital’s coffee machine, waiting for his expressos to be ready, Combeferre attempted dialing Grantaire’s number. As he had expected, the man didn’t answer, and after his third attempt, it went straight to voicemail. With a resigned sigh, he texted him, under no hopes that Grantaire would text him back.

**To: Grantaire (13:21) Hey, R. I’m sorry for those things I told you. I was overwhelmed by stress and allowed my temper to get the best of me. I was wrong. You’re not bad for Enjolras. Please text me back so I can know you’re ok. Once again, I’m sorry.**

                He attempted calling Grantaire’s number one more time, but it was to no avail. With a resigned sigh, he picked up the coffees and returned to Enjolras’ room.

                                                                                                              -

                Enjolras didn’t remember leaving the hospital, as sleepy and drugged as he was, and he didn’t remember getting to his apartment either. All he knew was that when he woke up, he was lying in his bed, a warm body nestled beside him. He groggily turned on his side, finding himself to be lying down beside a sleeping Courfeyrac, who was holding a sleeping Brownie in his arms. Enjolras frowned, confused and thirsty. He didn’t know what time it was, and his phone was nowhere to be seen. He felt like he had been run over by a truck, an elephant and a dinosaur, respectively.

                He slowly attempted to get up from the bed, even though his limbs were heavy and sluggish. He stood up, lingering by the bed as he regained balance of his body, and when he felt steady enough he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, careful not to wake his sleeping friend. He and Combeferre had probably taken him home from the hospital, and from the lack of natural light in the bedroom, Enjolras assumed it was already night. As he got to the kitchen, Enjolras saw his phone lying on the counter, and picking it up he noticed it was nearly three a.m. There were no new messages.

Rubbing a hand across his face, he fetched himself a glass of water, and as he turned to go back to his bedroom he found that Combeferre was in his living room, sitting on the floor and writing something down on a notebook.

                “Hey”, Combeferre greeted him without looking up, and he sounded exhausted.

                “Hey”, Enjolras replied, not as dryly as he had intended.

                “Up already, I see”, Combeferre said absentmindedly, and then he closed the notebook to finally look up at his friend. “How are you feeling?”

                “Like I was run over by a truck”, Enjolras said, noticing that his dinner table had been cleaned up and that there were no traces to Grantaire’s presence there.

                “I figured as much. You need rest and proper feeding until you’re better. Oh, and you’ll have to take an anti-allergic every other 12 hours. It’s on your nightstand”, Combeferre told him.

                “Thank you”, Enjolras said with sincerity. He was about to turn on his back and go back to his bedroom when a sudden thought crossed his mind. “Have you apologized to Grantaire?”, he asked, stopping on his tracks. Combeferre didn’t look at him, fidgeting with the pen in his hands instead.

                “I’ve tried to”, he said merely, and Enjolras, knowing his best friend as he did, immediately knew that there was something wrong.

                “What do you mean?”, he frowned. Combeferre sighed.

                “He hasn’t picked up my phone calls”, Combeferre explained. But there was something about the stiffness of his shoulders and the fidgeting of his hands that told Enjolras that there was something else he wasn’t telling him.

                “What else?”, he asked, urging Combeferre to speak. When he didn’t, Enjolras pressured him. “Combeferre”.

                “He hasn’t been picking up anyone’s calls”, Combeferre said, lowering his head and covering his forehead with one hand in defeat. “No one knows where he is”.

                Enjolras was immediately frozen to the spot, taking in Combeferre’s words. His breathing got heavier and he blinked dumbly at his friend’s form, suddenly numb.

                “What are you saying?”, Enjolras asked, voice merely above a whisper. His face was clear of any emotion, and he was quite sure that he could no longer feel his fingers.

                Combeferre finally looked up, properly looked up at Enjolras, eyes filled with tears and looking guilty. Enjolras noticed how damp his glasses were, which meant he had probably cried before Enjolras woke up. His hands tightened into a fist and he gave himself a deprecating huff of breath before responding to Enjolras, who was as still as a statue, except for the trembling of his hand.

                “Grantaire is missing”, Combeferre breathed out, looking guiltier than Enjolras had ever seen him. And then he broke into silent tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update, I had some health problems


	6. Chapter 6

Enjolras wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he wanted to.

                When a whole day passed without a single word from Grantaire, Enjolras’ crush on the man ceased from being a hidden, private state and became group-wise. Joly, who shared an apartment with Grantaire and Bossuet, was the first to approach Enjolras on the cynic’s unusual absence, knowing that he had been to Enjolras’ place earlier on the previous day and never returned home. Enjolras, who had spent the whole night awake and trying to call Grantaire (to no avail), explained to Joly what had happened, and told him about the discussion Grantaire had had with Combeferre, all the while pointing disapproving looks to his best friend, who was nervously biting on his nails – a habit he had dropped several years ago and always did his best not to return to. Joly, as predicted by Enjolras, started to freak out, and Bossuet had to take the phone from him and ask Enjolras to explain everything again. Less than twenty minutes after the call finished, Joly and Bossuet were ringing Enjolras’ door bell, a sleepy – and mostly confused – Musichetta behind them.

                After that, Enjolras’ apartment became a chaotic mess. Somewhere after the trio’s arrival, Courfeyrac woke up, grumpy and confused, and Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta begun to develop a list with Grantaire’s favorite places to go to when he was upset. Someone must have warned Jehan about the situation, because he soon arrived too, wearing a terrible, crumpled sweater and yellow pants that didn’t match it. Enjolras paid none of them attention, too worried texting and calling Grantaire, all to no avail. The calls went all straight to voice mail, and he must have left over ten voice messages, in a faint hope that Grantaire might detect the despair in his voice and give Enjolras some sort of sign that he was ok.

                The daily Monday meeting was canceled, of course, and soon, Enjolras’ house became crowded with all the Amis, who were discussing loudly and planning to go out on the streets to look for Grantaire on his favorite bars and nightclubs. Apparently, Grantaire had a tendency to self-destruct whenever he became too upset, and Enjolras pretended not to hear when his name was mentioned in that conversation.

                _Grantaire has a tendency to self-destruct when he’s upset, and especially when he’s upset because of Enjolras_ , one of his friends had said. His grip on the phone in his hand became tighter and he bit his lower lip in frustration. Was he doomed to make Grantaire suffer? All he wanted was a simple lunch, a simple, regular lunch that was supposed to make them get closer to each other, not farther away. Suddenly, the voices of his friends, speaking all at once, and eventually throwing accusations they didn’t actually mean to at Enjolras, became too overwhelming, and the leader couldn’t concentrate on his own thoughts. He got up from his couch abruptly, wanting nothing but to be alone, to have space to breathe and think, to find a way to discover where Grantaire was. His departure from the living room went mostly unnoticed by his friends, who were still too busy discussing where Grantaire could possibly be, and the only one to notice his absence was Brownie, who eagerly followed him to his bedroom.

                Enjolras closed his bedroom door with a tiny click and bent down to pick Brownie, holding him in his arms and allowing himself to sit heavily on the edge of his bed. The dog, unquiet, wiggled away from Enjolras’ grip and dropped on the mattress, lying down beside Enjolras’ thigh. With a sigh, the leader dialed Grantaire’s number again, raising the phone to his ear only to hear the already expected sound of the voicemail. Even with the door closed, he could still hear his friend’s voices outside, as muffled and unintelligible as they were. Enjolras’ chest tightened. He didn’t want any of that to happen. From Grantaire’s death to this, he didn’t wish for it, he didn’t plan it, he didn’t want it. He didn’t know what to do. All he wanted was for Grantaire to be safe and well, why couldn’t he have just that one thing? Why was it that, even if Grantaire was back to life, it felt as if Enjolras was still doing everything wrong when it came to the cynic? It felt as if he was wasting away his only chance with Grantaire.

                A knot formed in Enjolras’ throat and he attempted to take in a deep breath. He was still recovering from the anaphylaxis from the previous day: his eyes were still a bit swollen and he was still feeling tired to the bone, but even though the anti-allergic made him terribly sleepy, he didn’t find it in himself to fall into Morpheus’ arms. Not while Grantaire was still out there, somewhere unknown.

                He spared the nightstand a hesitant look, facing the numbers on the countdown clock. He had 27 days left with Grantaire. Suddenly and accidentally, he wondered what would happen if Grantaire was to die before that. Dread overcame him.

                But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. There was no way Enjolras could go through that again. He would find him. He _had_ to find Grantaire.

                Jehan – bless him – must have noticed that Enjolras was gone, and gentle and caring as he was, knocked shyly on the bedroom’s door before entering it. Enjolras muttered a weak “come in”, still hopelessly dialing Grantaire’s number, and the poet entered the room slowly, handing Enjolras a glass of cool water which he drunk eagerly.

                “Thank you”, Enjolras breathed out, handing Jehan the empty glass and looking at the screen of his phone instead of meeting the poet’s eyes.

                “Do you want company, or would you rather be alone?”, Jehan asked sweetly, caressing Brownie’s back with absentmindedness. Enjolras knew Jehan well enough to know that he would actually respect Enjolras’ choice, but also knew that, were Enjolras to say he needed company, he would be silent and comforting as always, instead of pressuring Enjolras to speak. Memories of Jehan telling him about Grantaire’s feelings on that disgustingly white hospital bathroom flooded his mind, and he could clearly remember the way that Jehan had hugged him, and held his hair back as he vomited, and reassured him as he cried. As much as the mere thought of having to interact with anyone on that moment made Enjolras’ stomach churn, he knew that he wouldn’t need to interact with Jehan at all if he allowed him to stay.

                “I wouldn’t mind you staying”, Enjolras said, voice hoarse and clearly tired. Jehan immediately clicked his tongue and sat down on the bed beside Enjolras, putting a respectful distance between them but allowing a hand to dart up and caress the leader’s blond curls. Enjolras sighed and, pretending that Jehan wasn’t looking, dialed Grantaire’s number once again.

                “We’ll find him, you know”, Jehan said after a few seconds, overhearing the sound of the voicemail in the near-silence of the room. “We always do”.

                “What do you mean ‘always’?”, Enjolras asked. He didn’t bother to sound indignant; he was too tired for that. His voice was monotone, but Jehan didn’t judge.

                “This isn’t the first time he’s disappeared”, Jehan sighed, sounding like a tired, slightly reprehending parent. “He does that sometimes. Gets too overwhelmed by his own thoughts. But we always find him, in the end”.

                “What if we don’t?”, Enjolras asked, clutching the phone tighter in his hands. A sound of raising voices could be heard in his living room, but he tried to ignore them.

                “We will”, Jehan reassured. “He’ll have to come back, eventually”.

                “How can you be so calm?”, Enjolras asked, shaking his head and finally daring to lock the screen of his phone, even if for just a few moments. He turned his head to finally meet Jehan’s eyes, and the poet looked as exhausted as Enjolras felt. “How can you not… worry?”

                Enjolras had no malice in his voice when he asked Jehan those questions; they were a product of his sheer curiosity. Jehan did look calm and unworried in the face of this situation.

                “Oh, I am worried”, Jehan half-chuckled, half-sighed. He lowered his eyes to the seemingly asleep dog beside Enjolras’ leg before returning his gaze towards the leader. “But right now, you’re on the verge of freaking out, and you need someone that isn’t losing it to ground you. Plus, what good would there be in worrying too much? It won’t help us find Grantaire”.

                Enjolras rubbed his eyes, running his fingers through his hair a few times before unlocking his phone again, hopelessly dialing Grantaire’s number once more.

                “Why doesn’t he pick up his calls?”, Enjolras asked, allowing frustration to take the best of him and make him angry. He bit his lower lip before continuing. “It’s cruel, to know his friends are worried and not pick up”.

                “He probably turned his phone off, love”, Jehan said, giving Enjolras a sad smile. “He does that. He probably doesn’t want to speak with anyone after the discussion with Combeferre; we should give him some space”.

                “But he could at least send word that he’s fine!”, Enjolras protested half-heartedly. “That he’s not… not… passed out on an alley or something. He’s been gone for a day”, he added, voice breaking.

                “Enjolras”, Jehan said sadly, fingers now running up and down Enjolras’ back in a comforting way. “That’s not how R does things”.

                Enjolras finally let go of the phone, almost angrily, allowing it to fall heavily on the bed and startling the puppy, who jumped to Jehan’s lap and nestled himself there as if to continue his nap. The leader covered his face with both hands, leaning his elbows on his knees, back arched as he tried to keep a regular breathing pattern.

                “I really don’t know a single thing about him, do I?”, Enjolras asked, frustration clear in his voice, which was muffled by his hands.

                “It’s ok”, Jehan reassured, running a hand across Enjolras’ back as if to comfort him. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know him better, Enj”.

                Enjolras couldn’t help but to let out a barely hearable sob. Jehan noticed, but said nothing. He knew nothing of the countdown and of Grantaire’s death. Enjolras didn’t have the heart to tell him on that moment, as much as he wanted – needed – to share that weight with someone before he was crushed by it. The only person who knew was Combeferre, but it also had been Combeferre to make Grantaire disappear like that, which meant Enjolras wasn’t exactly eager to talk to him about the subject, especially because he knew that his best friend felt guilty enough about all that was happening to have Enjolras throw a reminder of Grantaire’s death on his face.

                “But no matter how much I try, I always end up hurting him”, Enjolras protested, trying to keep some sort of control of his trembling voice. He was so tired of crying and feeling vulnerable in front of people, and as much as he was aware that Jehan would never judge him for opening himself, he wanted to be able to feel strong or at least in control of himself again. He took in several deep, shaky breaths, trying to take hold of his behavior. Jehan clicked his tongue again.

                “You can tell me”, Jehan responded simply, tone gentle and patient, almost as if he already knew the answer to an unasked question. Enjolras knew what he meant, but couldn’t find it in himself to comply. He felt vulnerable, exposed and raw. All he wanted was to close himself away in his bedroom, never to come out again, he wanted to curl into a ball and be left alone to his thoughts and to his own self.

                But there was something about Jehan’s presence that had always made him feel… comfortable, or at least not afraid to be sincere to his true feelings. He loved all his friends equally, but each of them had defining traits that made them especial and valuable to Enjolras. In Jehan’s case, it was his empathy, the eagerness with which he was always ready to offer help or comfort to literally anyone, without judging, without asking questions. Sometimes, when Enjolras couldn’t even talk to Combeferre or Courfeyrac, who were his closest friends, he recurred to Jehan, who would always be ready to lend an ear and listen to Enjolras’ problems. When he couldn’t help, he’d offer Enjolras a hug, or tea, or a cuddling session. Anything to make him feel better about himself. And right then, that was exactly what Enjolras needed – to feel better. He was so tired of that constant state of anxiety he was in, of the constant, looming fear and guilt and sorrow. He wanted to make Grantaire happy. And he wanted to _be happy by his side_ , if he would have Enjolras. He wanted to be able to feel comfortable in his own skin again.

                “I love him, Jehan”, Enjolras confessed, feeling as if a partial weight had been lifted from his chest, allowing him to finally breathe. His hands were shaking and he shoved them beneath each of his armpits, hoping it would hide the trembling from the poet’s sight. “I love him, and I wanted to be close to him, but everything I’ve done so far ended up on a dead-end or on situations like this, where he gets hurt and disappears. I’m so tired of having him disappear. I’m so tired of losing him”, Enjolras breathed out, biting his lower lip again. This was way too oversharing, and he should have kept his mouth shut. Now, Jehan would see there was something wrong, something that Enjolras wasn’t telling him, and he’d ask questions Enjolras couldn’t provide the answers to.

                But instead, Jehan simply pulled Enjolras into a tight hug, that was just a bit uncomfortable from the angle in which they were sitting, but that neither of them dared to break. Enjolras allowed himself to relax into the poet’s arms, face buried in his neck and doing his best not to cry as he felt like Jehan was taking part of the crushing weight inside his chest and helping him carry it. Jehan always gave the best hugs.

                They stayed like that for a long, long time, Jehan slowly caressing Enjolras’ hair and basically just holding him, while Enjolras tried to contain the tears threatening to form in his eyes. Eventually, the puppy crushed between them grew tired and attempted to escape, and out of fear that Brownie would end up falling from the bed and hurting himself, Enjolras broke the hug, picking the puppy up with both hands and placing a tiny kiss on the top of his nose.

                “I didn’t even know I wanted a dog until R gave me one”, Enjolras commented absentmindedly and with a melancholic smile, hoping to deflect any possible questions before Jehan even asked them.

                “R does that a lot”, Jehan smiled shyly, staring down at his own hands. “He makes us feel things that we didn’t even know we could, and makes us want things that we had no idea we wanted in the first place”.

                The truth of Jehan’s words hit Enjolras like a truck and he merely stayed still, trying to maintain a neutral expression. Because it was true, wasn’t it? He would have never imagined he would fall in love, the possibility had never crossed his mind, and mostly, he had never imagined that he would fall in love _with Grantaire_ , of all people. Grantaire, the drunk, loud cynic who was always disagreeing with Enjolras and publicly embarrassing him; the obnoxious devil’s advocate with a sharp tongue and a quick brain. If anyone had told Enjolras a year before that he would fall in love with Grantaire, Enjolras would have laughed. And yet here he was, feeling things he had never considered feeling, in love with a man to whom he had never paid attention enough.

                “I only wish I could make him see how amazing he is”, Jehan continued sadly, staring at his own hands and apparently unaware of Enjolras’ inner epiphany. “He’s so good in so many things, and yet he thinks so little of himself. He deserves to be happy”.

                “He does”, Enjolras agreed, swallowing dry. Jehan gave him a tiny, humorless chuckle.

                “If only he could fight his demons as well as he fights on those damn dens”, he said, shaking his head disapprovingly. Enjolras frowned.

                “What do you mean?”, he asked. Jehan spared him a confused look, but then the sudden realization that Enjolras probably didn’t know much about Grantaire’s unhealthy habits hit him. He leaned closer to the leader, fingers tangling with the edge of his curls, playing absentmindedly with the man’s curly hair before responding.

                “R is a boxer”, Jehan started. Enjolras nodded; he knew that, at least.

                “I know”, he told Jehan, the tinge of a frown still present between his eyebrows. “He even invited me to go to one of his boxing matches…”, sudden realization hit Enjolras like a cold-water bucket. “Tomorrow!”, he exclaimed triumphantly, eyes widening sitting up straighter on his bed. Brownie once again released himself from Enjolras’ now loosened grip, but the leader barely noticed it. “He will be at the boxing match tomorrow! He told me that!”

                Jehan gave Enjolras a grieving look.

                “Enj”, he said patiently. “This… boxing that R does, it’s… it’s not exactly _official_ ”, he sighed, squinting a bit as if he was regretting telling Enjolras, whose triumphant expression fell back into a confused, frowning one. “He did go to an academy in the past”, Jehan continued, not quite meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “But… he no longer fights there. Now he goes to these… clubs, of some sorts, where he fights for money”.

                Enjolras was so shocked by this that he couldn’t find the proper words to say. Instead, he merely stared at Jehan, who stared back sadly.

                “W-what?”, was all Enjolras could manage, when Jehan didn’t say anything else.

                “I know, I know”, the poet clicked his tongue, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t approve of it either, but god knows he needs the money; his art hasn’t been selling much and he hasn’t had a proper presentation in a long while”.

                “So he became a human cockfighter? For money?!”, Enjolras exclaimed, shocked. This couldn’t be. This sounded too dangerous and too reckless, even for Grantaire’s apparent standards.

                “He only does it when he’s really desperate”, Jehan shrugged, but his nose was scrunched up in disapproval. “Or when he’s feeling bad”, he said, tone of voice changing. He spared Enjolras a knowing look, almost as if he had just revealed crucial information for his friend. “He’ll probably be there tomorrow”, he added, voice quieter this time, almost as if he was talking to himself.

                “How could you let him do this?”, Enjolras asked, indignant. “Who else knows?”

                “Everyone”, Jehan rolled his eyes, slightly offended at Enjolras’ accusation. Enjolras was a little thrown aback by Jehan’s response, once again realizing how little he knew about Grantaire’s life.

                Could he really love a man who he barely even knew?

                A long silence followed, Enjolras too embarrassed to look Jehan in the eye and Jehan being too lost in thought to actually pay attention to the awkwardness of the situation.

                “Do you know where this… this boxing thing will happen?”, Enjolras finally asked, voice slightly constricted by the knot in his throat. Jehan turned to look at him, blinking sluggishly as if waking from a daydream. He nodded solemnly, a serious look in his face.

                “Yes, I think I do”, he said with a resigned sigh. “But it isn’t a good idea to tell everyone about it. If we all show up there at once, he’ll probably just find another place to hide and lick his wounds. Like I said, he probably needs time”.

                Enjolras nodded, mimicking Jehan’s serious look.

                “I’ll go”, he announced. Jehan raised an eyebrow, studying Enjolras’ face for several seconds before turning his head away. Then, he raised one of his legs to the bed, followed by the other, sitting into a more comfortable position that allowed him to look at Enjolras face to face. He picked the dog and placed him between his crossed legs, looking pensive, as if he was trying to find the right words to speak.

                “Enj”, he started sweetly, voice smooth and gentle as always, but there was something wrong with his tone. Almost as if he was trying to sugarcoat Enjolras. “Have you told Grantaire about your feelings?”

                Enjolras darted his eyes away from Jehan’s, suddenly embarrassed even if he didn’t know the reason why. He shook his head vehemently.

                “Do you plan on telling him?”, Jehan added. Enjolras nodded. With a sigh, the poet leaned the weight of his head on both hands, and his elbows were leaning on his crossed knees. “Listen, love”, he started patiently. “Grantaire is a complex man. I’m assuming you are aware of his crush on you?”, he pointed, and Enjolras nodded again. Jehan himself had been the one to tell him, back on the hospital on that fateful day, the day of Grantaire’s death. How weird this situation was, Jehan talking about Grantaire’s feelings to him all over again, but in a different place, in what seemed like a different life? “But as you and I know very well, his self-esteem is not one of the bests. He won’t believe you actually feel something for him unless you say the words”.

                “We nearly kissed on Montparnasse’s party”, Enjolras confessed, just because he could. He knew he could trust Jehan, and he had already spoken of his feelings for Grantaire.

                “Still”, Jehan continued, unimpressed by Enjolras’ declaration. Enjolras was surprised by the naturality with which Jehan reacted to his declaration. “R won’t accept that you love him unless you tell him the words, dearest. And to confess your love for him in a fighting den on the darkest part of the neighborhood after he gets his ass kicked by strange men for money isn’t the best scenario for that, don’t you agree?”, he bent forwards to catch a strand of Enjolras’ hair, absentmindedly making a braid. Enjolras approached Jehan on the bed, both to easy the braid-making and because he loved having his hair played with. It comforted him, somehow.

                “I wasn’t going to tell him there”, Enjolras protested half-heartedly. Jehan finished the braid and caught another strand of his hair.

                “When were you going to confess?”, he asked, curiosity clear in his tone.

                “I don’t know”, Enjolras admitted, acknowledging that it was true. He didn’t know. He didn’t even get to plan it, if he was being honest. His feelings for Grantaire developed so suddenly and quickly, and this was such a new situation for him, that he figured that just kissing Grantaire and showing him that he cared would be enough. But Jehan was right. Grantaire would have to hear the words. He would have to see evidence of Enjolras’ feelings for him.

                And how was he supposed to do that?

                “I know you’re eager to find him, after all that’s happened”, Jehan said, incessantly braiding Enjolras’ hair now that he allowed him to. “But we can’t know how R will react to that”.

                “But he has feelings for me, doesn’t he?”, Enjolras asked, confused. “Won’t he be happy to see me?”

                Jehan sighed.

                “It’s more complicated than that, Enj”, he said, sounding tired. “Like I said, R is a complex man. I’ve known him for years, and I still haven’t quite managed to understand entirely what goes on inside that thick head of his”, he shrugged. “But I do know that he will probably be feeling really vulnerable, if he had indeed resourced to fighting. And maybe he wouldn’t like you to see him like that, since he cares about you so much”.

                “But I wouldn’t mind!”, Enjolras protested honestly. “And he invited me to go. Why would he invite me if he didn’t want me to attend?”

                Jehan bit his lower lip, sparing Enjolras a quick, sad look. He didn’t respond.

                “Tell me”, Enjolras pressured, curiosity getting the best of him. “Why would he do that?”

                “Please, do not think ill of me for saying this, love”, Jehan started, and that was already enough to make Enjolras’ heart drop. “But I don’t think Grantaire thought you would actually go see him fight”.

                Enjolras gaped at the poet, a confused frown appearing on his face. He had no words.

                “Why… why would he think that?”, Enjolras asked, finally, voice small and constricted. His heart was thumping madly inside his chest. All of Enjolras’ hair was braided now, and Jehan begun to undo the braids so that he could start them over.

                “I mean no offense, and you know that”, Jehan continued, not meeting Enjolras’ eyes and staring at his hair instead. “But before a couple of days ago, you’ve never… showed you cared about him. I know it’s not your fault”, Jehan quickly added, as if to make up for any offense he may have made. “But R’s had several gallery openings and dancing contests that he invited you to and you’ve never attended. You’ve been more affectionate towards him these past days than I’ve ever seen you, that’s true, but I don’t think this sudden change in behavior is enough to make him see that you care about him”, there was a small pause. “By the way, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you realize you have feelings for R?”

                Enjolras froze, hoping Jehan wouldn’t notice. For someone who didn’t ask uncomfortable questions, Jehan was being quite mouthy. What could he possibly answer? Grantaire died and this made me realized that I never valued him as he deserved and it made me develop feelings towards him that are a mixture of guilt, affection, protectiveness and love? Even as open-minded as Jehan was, Enjolras couldn’t be sure whether he would believe him or not. And even if he did believe, he would certainly try to lecture Enjolras about projecting his guilt onto some higher, more complex feelings just as Combeferre had done. Enjolras swallowed dry, eyes darting across his room as he tried to find any possible answer to the poet’s question without sounding either as a lunatic or as a jerk. Jehan, though, must have noticed Enjolras’ discomfort, for he quickly clicked his tongue and shook his head.

                “It’s ok, you don’t have to answer that”, Jehan said, and Enjolras felt a bit relieved, even if he couldn’t shake the feeling that he _did_ have to answer.

                “I want to go”, Enjolras added, voice small. He hated how vulnerable he sounded. Jehan finally locked eyes with him and Enjolras sustained the gaze. “I want to show him that I care”.

                “Enjolras…”

                “Not like that”, Enjolras quickly shook his head. Jehan bit his lower lip. “I won’t confess my feelings for him after he fights in a den. But I want to show him that he was wrong by thinking that I wouldn’t go”, Enjolras shrugged. “I want him to show that _Combeferre_ was wrong by telling him that he wasn’t good to me. And I want to make up for all the times that _I_ was the one bad for him, and for the times that I wasn’t there for him when he needed me to”.

                Jehan stared at him for a long time, hands frozen in the middle of a braiding, before enveloping Enjolras with his thin, gentle arms and pulling him into a heartfelt embrace. Jehan smelled like flowers, French cologne and weed, but Enjolras buried his face on the man’s hair all the same and allowed himself to be hugged for the second time on that day.

                “Oh, Enj”, Jehan whispered, caressing Enjolras’ back. For once, Enjolras held the poet back, instead of merely being held.

                “I want to make him happy”, Enjolras whispered back, truthfully. He wanted that more than anything. He owed Grantaire happiness.

                “Are you sure about this?”, Jehan asked, breaking the hug and looking Enjolras in the eyes with all the seriousness he could muster.

                “I am sure”, Enjolras nodded. “I want to see him”.

                “Fine”, Jehan said with a sigh. He removed his hands from Enjolras’ shoulder and finished the braid in Enjolras’ hair. “Like I said, I don’t think it will be a good idea to take everyone there at once, so I won’t tell them. I trust you understand?”, he asked, hesitant.

                “I do”, Enjolras nodded, sniffing even though his eyes weren’t teary.

                “Alright. I’ll step by here tomorrow at ten p.m. Wear discrete clothes, the place we’ll be going to doesn’t really take in extravagant people”, Jehan said, idly running his fingers through one of his cheekbones, eyes going unfocused. Enjolras frowned, but said nothing.

                “Alright”, Enjolras nodded, taking a deep breath. Then he added: “Thank you, Jehan. For everything”.

                “Don’t mention it, love”, Jehan smiled sweetly at him, pulling him into another, albeit quicker hug. “I am sure you must be tired, aren’t you?” he asked, running a thumb across Enjolras’ jaw. Enjolras nodded, recognizing that he indeed was. “I presumed so. And you must be overwhelmed, having so many people in the house?”

                “Yes”, Enjolras said simply, nodding again. Bless Jehan for having such a tact.

                “Don’t worry. I’ll try to calm them down about this Grantaire situation, and I’ll take them to my place, ok?”, he offered with a smile. Enjolras let out a shaky breath and nodded vehemently.

                “Thank you”, he said, gratitude clear in his voice. He took Jehan’s hand into his and squeezed it. Jehan bent forwards to place a sweet kiss on Enjolras’ brow before standing up, rubbing Brownie’s head one last time before heading to the door.

                “Have some sleep, alright?”, Jehan said, hand holding the doorknob but not twisting it. “You haven’t slept yet and the anti-allergic must be wearing you down. You won’t be able to do anything while sleep deprived, love”, he added with a sad smile. Enjolras bit his lower lip, but nodded. “Promise?”, Jehan raised an eyebrow at him. Enjolras allowed himself to smile.

                “Yeah, I promise”, he said. Jehan nodded briefly, before sparing Enjolras one last look and opening the door. The sound of the remaining conversation from the living room flooded the bedroom, and Enjolras unconsciously flinched. Even after Jehan left the bedroom and closed the door behind him, Enjolras could still hear the conversation from outside. It took several minutes for the sound to die down, and for Enjolras to finally hear the pleasing click of the front door being closed.

                However, as Enjolras allowed himself to drop down on the bed with an exhausted sigh, a shy knock echoed across his room. He frowned, sitting back up on the bed and against his pillows, picking Brownie up from where he was nearly falling from the edge of the bed before saying a quiet: “come in”.

                The door open briefly, just enough to allow Combeferre’s head to pass through, and he still had that guilty look on his face that made Enjolras’ heart tighten. As much as he wanted to hate Combeferre, he couldn’t. He was Enjolras’ best friend, and as much as he disagreed with his reasons to discuss with Grantaire, he understood that Combeferre had only done so because he cared about Enjolras deeply. Seeing him lying on a hospital bed, barely breathing and swollen all over must have frightened him, and Combeferre, the ever-rational, logic-favoring man, lost his reason due to emotion under the threat of losing his best friend. Enjolras understood that, but he still couldn’t quite forgive Combeferre for making Grantaire disappear like that while knowing that Enjolras’ time with the cynic was counted. Therefore, he turned his head away slightly, avoiding Combeferre’s gaze, not quite denying him entrance but not being entirely receptive, either.

                “Can I come in?”, Combeferre asked, voice unsure. His grip on the door was so tight that his knuckles had gone white. Enjolras merely nodded, idly playing with Brownie, who was trying to playfully bite on Enjolras’ fingers. Combeferre quietly stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and lingering by the doorway, as if he didn’t want to break into Enjolras’ personal space by stepping into the room.

                “How are you feeling?”, Combeferre asked hesitantly, almost shyly, and Enjolras still wasn’t meeting his eyes.

                “Tired”, he sighed with honesty. “Worried. Sad, I believe”.

                “I’m sorry”, Combeferre said, and the sincerity in his voice was so overwhelming that Enjolras couldn’t help but to look up and lock eyes with him. “I truly am, Enj, you know that”. Combeferre only lied in life-threatening situations, and he never, ever lied to Enjolras. They had been friends for years, and Enjolras could tell how guilty and genuinely sorry Combeferre was.

                “I know”, Enjolras sighed, colder than he had intended. He wanted to forgive Combeferre, but he wanted Grantaire by his side, too. He would have to conciliate the two feelings. Combeferre took a hesitant step further into the room, hands fidgeting by his side.

                “What can I do for you?”, he asked nervously. “Please. I can’t stand seeing you like this. Let me help”.

                “You can help by finding Grantaire and apologizing to him”, Enjolras shrugged, eyes averting Combeferre once more. “And by telling him that you didn’t mean what you said”.

                Combeferre bit his lower lip and nodded, ashamed.

                “Are you taking your medicines?”, Combeferre inquired.

                “Don’t mother me”, Enjolras said half-heartedly.

                “I’m serious, Enjolras”, Combeferre sighed. Enjolras hesitated for a few moments before nodding, eyes still avoiding Combeferre’s form.

                “Alright”, he resigned, sounding frustrated. Seconds of tense silence followed before Combeferre mustered the courage to break it. “I’ll be going to Jehan’s now, to try to help them find Grantaire. You should rest and drink a lot of water”.

                “Ok”, Enjolras said. It broke his heart to be as dry as he was being to Combeferre on that moment, but he needed to find that Grantaire was safe and ok before allowing himself to forgive his guilt-ridden friend. Combeferre sighed loudly.

                “Take care alright?”, he said finally, hand twisting the doorknob. “Do you need anything before I go?”

                “No, thank you”, Enjolras sniffed, still playing with Brownie. Combeferre nodded, turning his back.

                “Bye, Enj”, he said, opening the door.

                “Bye”, Enjolras responded. Combeferre left, closing the door behind him and leaving Enjolras alone to his much-desired silence and loneliness. The leader let out a deep, shaky breath, muscles relaxing as he slipped into a lying position on the bed. He needed to have some time to himself, to his thoughts. His chest felt hollow, but on that moment, all he needed was a hot bath and a night of sleep, for once. Picking his phone, he unlocked it to find it empty of any new messages or calls.

                He dialed Grantaire’s number again. It hit voicemail. The beep announced that he should leave a message, but he had already left several messages to Grantaire over the course of that day. He didn’t know what else he could tell the cynic, so with a resigned sigh, he hung up and allowed the device to fall on the bed beside him.

                He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he stepped into what was probably the longest shower of his life.

                                                                                                              -

                As promised, Jehan arrived at Enjolras’ apartment at ten p.m., wearing a pair of black jeans and a dark-blue plain shirt. It was very unusual to see the poet wearing… _normal_ clothes, so Enjolras subconsciously frowned as he opened the door of his apartment to reveal the man. Jehan stepped inside after placing a kiss on Enjolras’ cheek, checking him out as if to see if his clothes were appropriate.

                “Are you good to go?”, Jehan asked Enjolras, who nodded. He grabbed his apartment keys and gave Brownie one last check before leaving the apartment, Jehan on his heels.

                Since the place they were going to was on the edgier part of town, Jehan thought it better if they took a bus there. This way, they’d only have to walk a block before they arrived at their destination. The streets were empty and dark as they walked to the bus stop, and Enjolras, unused to being out that late in the night, grew tenser with each step.

                “Where are we going again?”, he asked, worrying at his lower lip. Jehan shoved his hands into his pockets, and Enjolras noticed how his hair was tied into a bun on the top of his head, rather than on his usual braid.

                “It’s a night club called Hell Riser”, Jehan said, leaning on a post by the bus stop. “They have this sort of… arena, or rather a mini-arena, on the basement; that’s where the fights take place. The owner gets to keep 10% of the night earnings if he keeps his mouth shut about it. Not many people know what goes on there, it’s some sort of shady, less mortal, real life Fight Club. But since Grantaire knows Paris like the back of his hand, of course he ended up finding this forsaken place. Ah, there’s our bus”.

                Enjolras climbed the nearly empty bus behind Jehan, and paid for their passages. They walked to the back of the vehicle and sat down side by side.

                “And how does this… _bidding_ thing work?”, Enjolras asked quietly, not wanting the other passengers to hear him.

                “The bidders choose the fighter they think that will win the round and make their bets. If the fighter wins, they get paid, and in the end, the fighter gets 50% of the wins. It’s a fast way to win money, especially because R never loses”, Jehan shrugged. Enjolras scrunched up his nose. “I don’t approve of it, of course. But he’s as stubborn as a mule, as you know very well. Joly has begged for him to stop going to this place, and he promised not to go unless really desperate. But… well”, Jehan trailed off with a sigh, not wanting to make Enjolras feel guiltier.

                “I wonder what he’d do if I actually showed up?”, Enjolras commented absentmindedly.

                “What’s that?”, Jehan frowned, confused.

                “He invited me to watch him fight”, Enjolras explained, staring straight ahead. “If none of this had happened, I wondered what he’d do if I actually went. You said he wouldn’t expect me to go there, and from what you’ve described, it’s not the sort of place I’d usually be found at”.

                “Oh”, Jehan commented, raising an eyebrow. “I presume he’d just… tell you it had been cancelled? I really don’t know”, he shrugged. “I don’t think he’d want you to show up there. None of us ever did”, he trailed off mysteriously.

                “Have you?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow. Jehan didn’t look at him.

                “Yes”, he answered after a long silence. His fingers were fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. “Let’s just say it didn’t go well, and R made me promise him that I would never go back there”.

                “But you are”, Enjolras commented curiously.

                “Of course I am”, Jehan huffed out a breath. “He’s my friend and he needs me”.

                Another moment of silence passed between them, and Enjolras had to muster the courage to ask Jehan what he wanted to know, only hoping that he wasn’t being too intrusive.

                “What happened?”, he inquired simply, knowing that he didn’t need to elaborate the question. Jehan sighed.

                “I had no idea what to expect of that place. I was going out with Montparnasse, and he was one of the bidders but I didn’t know he wouldn’t be there on that night. I…”, he hesitated. “I know that my… fashion taste isn’t exactly _discreet_ , so obviously one of those thugs started to pick up on me. Soon enough several people started to mock me and push me around, and one of them thought it would be funny to punch me on the face. R had to step out of his fight to help me, and ended up losing all his profit from the night. I had been bullied before, but that… that was another level. I was actually terrified”, he said, and Enjolras noticed how his hands were shaking. A sudden sense of protectiveness rose within him, and Enjolras passed an arm around Jehan’s shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. He was so angry. Why would Grantaire frequent a place like that, and especially after one of his friends got beaten up? If Enjolras ever found the men who did that to Jehan he wouldn’t answer for his actions.

                “Are you sure you can go back there tonight?”, Enjolras asked patiently. Jehan bit his lower lip before nodding quietly, eyes glued to his own feet. “Jehan. I don’t want you to feel forced to anything. If you want, I can go in by myself”.

                “You don’t even know how to get in”, Jehan protested half-heartedly. “Plus, you’re not the only one worried about R. I’ll go with you”.

                “Are you certain?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow. Jehan gave him a final nod.

                “Our stop is the next. Stay near me, and let me do the talking”, Jehan instructed, getting up from his seat and pulling the string that signaled that they wanted to get out of the bus. Enjolras followed him closely, bodies nearly glued to each other as they walked down a street and turned a corner. Enjolras could hear the faint, distant sound of a music beat, and then it entered his vision.

                The nightclub was bigger than Enjolras had pictured it in his mind, and while the entirety of the street was covered and surrounded by grey dark shadows, the club seemed to pulse with a life of its own. A crowd of people was gathered on the outside, and the façade occupied the space of at least two residential buildings of their own. There was a line to get in, several different people gathered together as they waited for their turn to enter the establishment. As he approached the club, Jehan mere inches in front of him, Enjolras could hear the music getting louder and louder, some sort of heavy metal that fit perfectly the smell of cigarettes and cheap alcohol on the entrance.

                “We’ll have to wait in line!”, Jehan yelled so that he could be heard over the intense sound of the music. He got on his tiptoes to get nearer to Enjolras’ ear. “We can only go to the fight after we enter the club!”, he explained. Enjolras nodded vehemently.

                His phone buzzed inside his pocket and Enjolras immediately fished it out, unlocking the screen to find that he had received a call from Combeferre. Just as he was about to dial his friend’s number, he received a text.

**From: Combeferre (22:26) Where are you? I’m at your place.**

                Before he could respond, Jehan yanked the phone away from his grasp, looking at Enjolras as if he had grown a second head.

                “What on earth are you doing?! Put that away!”, he instructed, shoving the phone back at Enjolras’ chest. “Do you want to be mugged?”

                Enjolras frowned, but obeyed Jehan, placing the phone back inside his jacket pocket. He could answer Combeferre once he got inside.

                A drunk couple passed them, spilling the drinks they were holding all over Enjolras’ arm, who scowled automatically. Turning his head, he could see what seemed to be a brothel across the street from the club. Several half-dressed women were lingering by the open doors of the brothel, leaning seductively against the brick walls and showing off their legs to the passerby. Enjolras turned his eyes away, focusing on the nightclub he was about to get in.

                He couldn’t see much from the outside, despite of the large glass doors that colored the façade of the establishment. There were two tall security men by the one entrance, arms crossed above their chest, as one receptionist picked up the id cards of the first people of the line. There was a huge neon sign on the first floor of the building that read “Hell Riser”, but several of the lights flickered with a frequency that indicated that they were about to burn out. The constant music from the inside of the club was so loud that Enjolras could only imagine that it would be deafening once he passed through these doors. The stench of alcohol coming from his own jacket made him scrunch his nose up again, suddenly reminding the nausea that had accompanied his hangover.

                It didn’t take long for him and Jehan to reach the beginning of the line, and the receptionist pointed Enjolras a suspicious look followed by one single raised eyebrow as she checked out his id. She handed it back to him with a look that indicated that she thought it was probably fake, but didn’t say a word as Enjolras handed her the payment for his and Jehan’s entrance as she pulled the string to allow them to pass through.

                Enjolras was right about the music being deafening on the inside. The terribly loud sound of the guitar and the screaming made his squint, and Jehan held the edge of Enjolras’ shirt with a hesitant grasp as they made their way through the crowd of people that seemed to push into them as if trying to break their contact apart. The screaming on the music only increased, and there were women with make-up stained faces and drunk men rubbing Enjolras body, whether with their hands or their waists or their groins. It made the leader terribly uncomfortable, and he could already feel his heart rate increasing considerably. He sucked in a deep breath, that was tinged with the stench of sweat and sex, as he tried to control his heart and his nerves. He couldn’t bear to have a panic attack on that place, god knew what would become of his half-unconscious body in the middle of that crowd. Plus, Grantaire needed him, and he wouldn’t fail him.

                Jehan guided Enjolras towards the bar of the nightclub, and Enjolras frowned as he realized the poet was ordering them drinks.

                “We need to blend in!”, Jehan yelled over the deafening sound of the heavy metal around them. “Drink up!”, he instructed, shoving a glass of something alcoholic to Enjolras’ hands. He frowned at the foul smell, but took a sip anyway. It wouldn’t be enough to give him a hangover, would it? Despite of the disgusting taste, maybe it would help him relax his stiff muscles a bit. Enjolras hated himself for drinking the offending alcohol, but mimicked Jehan and downed it. “The entrance to the fight club is right there!”, Jehan told him, and at this point Enjolras was lip-reading rather than hearing his friend. “But we need to pay too!”, he explained. Enjolras nodded, already picking the money from his pocket. He felt his phone buzz again, but there were too many people glued to him for him to feel confident enough to pick up the device. Plus, he wouldn’t be able to hear Combeferre anyway, over the sound of the music. “Let’s go!”, Jehan said, grabbing Enjolras’ forearm and pulling him into the thick, dancing crowd.

                He remembered dancing with Grantaire back at Montparnasse’s party, and how different the whole situation had been. Enjolras hated dancing and most of all, hated crowds, but having Grantaire by his side, instructing and teaching him, had turned things easy enough. But now, Enjolras was basically crushed by the pushing and jumping people, having to basically bump himself across the crowd. He couldn’t understand what was the pleasure in getting shitfaced and basically trampled while listening to men screaming over the sound of guitars.

                They reached a small, discrete door at the opposite side of the club, which was right beside the emergency exit. There was a tall, bald man by the closed door, arms crossed above his chest just like the security guards from the outside of the club. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Enjolras, who already had flushed cheeks from the effort of crossing the dance floor, and Jehan, who was still clutching a glass of whatever alcohol in his hand.

                “Hello, Claquesous!”, Jehan shouted over the sound of the music, an apparently sincere smile on his lips. But Enjolras knew him well enough to notice the trembling of his hands.

                “Hello, _poet_ ”, Claquesous responded, spitting out the word with disdain.

                “Is Montparnasse here tonight?”, Jehan asked, getting on his tip toes so that the bald man could hear his words.

                “Nah”, Claquesous responded. “He hasn’t showed up in a while. But I figured you would come running right back to him at some point”, he teased. It didn’t sound friendly.

                “Right”, Jehan merely rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his drink and then downing it. “We’re going in. It’s still the same price, right?”

                “I charge ten extra bucks to faggots”, Claquesous snarled, and Enjolras immediately tensed up at the use of the word, hands tightening into fists.

                “You do know that Montparnasse eats men’s ass too, right?”, Jehan scowled, raising a disdainful eyebrow, and Claquesous stood up straighter against the door, apparently angry.

                “That’s twenty bucks now for each, Prouvaire”, he said, smiling a humorless smile that showed nothing but yellowish, crooked teeth. Before Jehan could retort, Enjolras stepped forwards, handing Claquesous the money for their allowance along with the forty extra bucks. Claquesous eyed him with an interest eyebrow raise, and Enjolras stared back relentlessly, serious face not faltering. Claquesous picked the money from his hand with an aggressive yank, counting it before putting it in his pocket. “You let your girlfriend speak for you now, eh, you pansy?”, the bald man teased. Enjolras couldn’t help but to blush.

                This wasn’t the first time he had been mistaken for a woman, or the first time anyone thought him younger than he actually was. Usually, Enjolras would let this go, unaffected, but there was something about Claquesous’ tone that made him incredibly uncomfortable. In any other situation, Enjolras would have approached him and scolded him for the use of homophobic, sexist language, but the odds were Claquesous wouldn’t be able to listen to his rants over the sound of the music and the effort wouldn’t be worth it. Still, Jehan must have noticed the way Enjolras stood up straighter, chin tilting slightly backwards in defiance, and placed his own hand gently on the top of the leader’s.

                Claquesous opened the door with a simple hand gesture, pulling it and nodding at the pair to go in. Jehan gave Enjolras a hesitant look before stepping inside, and the leader followed him closely. As soon as he passed the door, Claquesous closed it behind him, and Enjolras nearly tripped as he realized that there was no floor in front of him, but metal stairs that lead downwards and were illuminated by only a dim light that was coming from a flickering fluorescent lamp on the ceiling. The sound of the music from the club could still be clearly heard, even if it was muffled by the walls.

                Enjolras followed Jehan down the flight of stairs, each step echoing loudly through the dark, and they reached an empty corridor which had dirty walls and, for once, lights that weren’t flickering, even if they were dim. There was a high pitch inside of Enjolras’ ears, probably caused by the extended exposure to the loud music from upstairs. The sound of the rock music playing on the Hell Riser club started to mix with the rhythmic sound of chanting that increasingly grew on speed until it turned into a unison, prolonged cheering. It was as if Enjolras was approaching a football stadium, in which a victory had just occurred. As they reached the end of the corridor, they were faced with a large, metal door that was slightly ajar. Jehan pointed Enjolras one last look, as if to confirm if he was ready. The leader nodded.

                The muffled sound of the music from upstairs was momentarily muffled by the loud sound of screaming coming from the arena, and as Enjolras passed through the door, Jehan right by his side, he found himself to be emerged in a world of shouting, cheering men, who were fisting the air in synchrony and yelling at something that Enjolras couldn’t see.

                The arena was small, since it was makeshift and on the underground. There were just two bleachers around a very precariously protected ring, which was more of a circle surrounded by a simple string than anything else. The air was filled with a miasma of sweat, beer, cigarettes, blood and vomit, and Enjolras had to do his best not to gag on the foul smell as he entered the arena further, stepping over one of the old bleachers to get closer to the ring. A thick fume could be seen through the dim light surrounding the arena, making the ambient feel disgustingly moist. Several men pushed and bumped into Enjolras and Jehan as they passed, too distracted by the fight that was going on to pay attention to the pair. They began to chant again, all in improvised unison, raising their fists up in the air and yelling until their voices erupted into a cheer once again.

                Enjolras flinched at the number of people crushing in that tiny space, and at the abrupt fidgeting they kept making, bumping into him and pushing him around with Jehan. Some men absentmindedly complained about the pair, shoving them or pushing them, but Enjolras was trying his best to remain level-headed and not react. He jumped over the second bleacher, finally getting closer to the ring. He could sense some angry eyes following him as he passed, but the distant thought of worry about that went completely forgotten as soon as he saw what the audience was cheering at.

                Grantaire was standing in the ring, jumping around it with both arms raised midair, shifting his weight constantly from one foot to another. He and his opponent were practically dancing around each other, but the other man seemed to be a little lost and his movement were heavier and slower, while Grantaire seemed to bear no weight at all, even though his eyes were glazed and he looked tipsy. The opponent attempted to punch Grantaire’s face, but the cynic was quicker and dodged before the blow struck him, earning another loud cheer from the crowd. Beneath all the shouting and chanting, the music from the nightclub could still be eventually heard echoing through the walls. Since Grantaire had changed positions by avoiding the punch, he shifted and, leaning both hands on the floor, passed a leg beneath the man’s feet, making him lose balance and fall on his back. Then Grantaire walked to the opposite side of the ring, still hopping around and raising his arms to clap at the cheering audience with a crooked smile. He was still smiling when he turned his back to his opponent, eyeing the other side of the ring.

                And then he locked eyes with Enjolras, who was watching him from the first row, mouth gaping in astonishment and brow furrowing in worry.

                The truth was, Enjolras had never seen Grantaire like this, and he had never expected to. He was shirtless, and a pair of dusty pants were hanging low on his waist, revealing most of his hip bone. His skin was glistening with sweat, and Enjolras, who had expected Grantaire’s chest to be covered in hair, found himself surprised to see that it wasn’t, and that in fact, Grantaire bared something nearly akin to a six-pack. How he managed to do that with all the drinking was beyond Enjolras.

                Grantaire’s eyes widened as he saw Enjolras there on the crowd, and his mouth was starting to gape from surprise when his opponent got on his feet and the abruptness of a fist connecting with the cynic’s face sent his head flying back, making him fall to the ground with a pained groan. The sound of bones connecting with flesh echoed across the ring despite of all the cheering, and the sickening thud of Grantaire’s body collapsing with the floor earned a loud, collective groan of frustration from the crowd. The opponent had taken advantage of Grantaire’s distraction with Enjolras’ presence to sucker-punch him, and Enjolras found himself breathless with shock. The man raised his hands on the air and started to cheer, but very few people in the audience mimicked him.

                Enjolras only realized that he was still holding his breath when Grantaire sat up on the floor, making him finally able to breathe in despite of the foul smell of the arena. Grantaire turned his head and spat on the floor, a disgusting mixture of blood and saliva coating in a tiny puddle on the dusty ground beside him and running down his chin. His nose was also bleeding, Enjolras could notice even in the dim light, and now that he looked more closely, approaching the ring further despite of Jehan’s cries of his name, he could see that one of Grantaire’s eyes was already turning purple and that he sustained several hematomas all over his body. If his fighting habits had gone on for so long, how come Enjolras never noticed the bruises?

                His heart was racing faster and faster inside his ribs as he approached the ring further, Jehan following him closely albeit apprehensive. Enjolras only stopped when he reached the rope that separated the crowd from the ring, breathing fast and deep despite of the more accentuated smell of blood. He watched as Grantaire got to his feet, looking less stable than before, and Enjolras flinched at the way he scowled at his opponent before attacking him. He missed the first punch, that the man dodged easily, but when his opponent tried to retaliate Grantaire deflected his blow by using his arm to push the man’s fist aside. He took advantage of the man’s surprise to punch him right in the nose, sending him stumbling backwards. The audience went back to cheering again, chanting a sequence of “R! R! R! R!” that made Enjolras’ stomach churn. He saw the nickname as something intimate, something that only Grantaire’s inner circle of friends was allowed to use.

                How could Grantaire engage into such a violent habit? He was covered in bruises and the blood was now dripping down his nose straight to his chest. He was punching and kicking a man that had done nothing to him, in exchange for money. He was shirtless and shoeless in front of what seemed to be a hundred men, who were cheering his name without even knowing him. He was thanking them for the cheers, he was bowing at them, even if sarcastically, and he was brutally fighting another person, a fellowman. He was encircled by a circle of rope; he was a caged animal performing on a stage. He was selling himself, selling his dignity and his body and his health. He was hurting himself. Enjolras scrunched up his nose.

                Grantaire finally managed to knock his opponent down with a harsh blow to his neck and a kick to his chest that sent him flying and colliding with the floor, unconscious. Grantaire then leaned forward, panting, shaky hands leaning on his knees as he tried to sustain his body. The men around Enjolras and Jehan were cheering like mad now, clapping and whistling and yelling incomprehensible things. Enjolras, though, could only stare. He was glued to the ground, and despite being aware that Jehan was telling him something over the sound of the cheers, he couldn’t find it in himself to turn to look at the poet. All he could do was stare at Grantaire, who had stood up straighter and was walking over to the side of the ring opposite to Enjolras, talking to some man the leader did not recognize and taking something from his hands – probably his payment for the fight. He then picked up a cloth the man offered him and basically shoved it up one of his nostrils, tilting his head back to stop the bleeding of his nose. Enjolras was still stoically glued to the floor as Grantaire limped his way to him, eyes never leaving the cynic. He approached the pair waiting for him, only a rope separating them now. To Enjolras’ surprise, he didn’t address him, but Jehan.

                “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”, Grantaire asked, sounding offended. “I thought you had promised to never come back here, Jehan, it’s not safe –“

                “And I thought you had promised never to disappear without giving word again!”, Jehan interrupted him, voice high pitched. “Honestly, what the hell, R?”

                “Hey, R!”, a random man on the crowd interrupted them, slapping a hand against Grantaire’s shoulder and slightly pushing Enjolras to the side as he did so. “Great fight!”

                “Thanks, man”, Grantaire told him half-heartedly, barely paying him any attention. The man went away, and Grantaire turned back to Jehan. Only then Enjolras realized it. Grantaire was blatantly avoiding to look at him, looking at Jehan instead.

                “Just get out of here, ok?”, Grantaire leaned towards Jehan, voice lower and raspier, looking around the arena as if to check if he’d been heard.

                “Not without you”, Jehan protested with a frown. Grantaire gripped his arm as if to make him realize the seriousness of the situation, but Jehan merely yanked it away from Grantaire’s grasp.

                “Jehan, I’m being fucking serious –“

                “We’re not going anywhere without you”, Enjolras finally stepped in the conversation, keeping a neutral face as he spoke. Grantaire sighed in resignation, as if he had been expecting that, and slowly turned to face Enjolras, eyes reading the leader. It took him a while to respond, as if he was computing what Enjolras had just told him.

                “What are you doing here, Apollo?”, Grantaire asked, voice weird in a way Enjolras couldn’t quite put his finger on.

                “I came with Jehan to pick you up”, Enjolras explained simply, voice monotone. If he allowed anger to take the best of him, he’d end up yelling at Grantaire and making the man stay just out of spite. He knew how stubborn Grantaire was; as much as he wanted him to come with him, ordering him to do it would only make things worse. “Please, Grantaire, come with us”.

                Grantaire looked taken aback at this, as if he had been expecting Enjolras to do exactly what he was avoiding to, which was be aggressive and bossy. He merely stared at Enjolras for several moments, ignoring the passerby shouting his name and telling him that he had a good fight. The cloth hanging from his nose was about to fall down and Enjolras outstretched a hand to pick it up, gently pressing it against Grantaire’s nostril. Grantaire seemed to be even more confused at this.

                “Please”, Enjolras said again, now aware of the positive effect that the word seemed to have on Grantaire. “Let’s get out of here”.

                Jehan was watching the interaction with a confused look, eyes darting from Enjolras’ face to Grantaire’s, anxiously waiting for the cynic’s response. The scarce lighting of the arena made Grantaire’s face look shadowy and bluish, the bruises on his face and torso sticking out and the blood on his face contrasting with his glistening skin. Eventually, Grantaire lowered his head in resign and huffed out a breath, taking the cloth out of his nose and throwing it on the floor absentmindedly. He passed the back of his hand against his nostrils as if to clean them of the remaining blood and sniffed, picking the rope that separated the audience from the ring and lifting it so that he could pass below it. Enjolras pointedly didn’t look at the way the muscles of Grantaire’s back stretched and bended as he did so.

                Instead of looking at either of them, Grantaire walked right past the pair as if he didn’t know them, picking his shirt up from one of the benches and putting it on without stopping to walk. Another man greeted him and slapped his shoulder, offering him a bottle of beer. Grantaire chugged it and had downed it in the blink of an eye, returning the now empty bottle to his admirer. Enjolras and Jehan exchanged a quick look before following him, pushing their way through the crowd of sweaty, stinking men holding cans and bottles of beer and that seemed to pay no attention to them.

                Grantaire pushed the metal doors that led to the corridor open abruptly, passing them without holding them open for his friends behind him. Jehan gave a little jog and managed to hold one of them before it closed, pushing it just enough so that he could pass, Enjolras right behind him. Grantaire was several feet in front of them already, not stopping to wait for neither and walking too fast for them to keep up. Now that there was no crowd around them, Enjolras could notice how tipsy Grantaire looked, and frowned at the way he had to keep leaning his hands on the wall for ballance. Jehan and Enjolras were basically jogging now, and as they reached the end of the corridor, they found themselves staring down at a couple in the middle of having clothed sex, not looking the slightest embarrassed by being caught. Enjolras flushed at the sight, surprised, but Grantaire merely rolled his eyes and muttered out a grumpy: “get a room”, before climbing up the stairs that led to the Hell Riser nightclub.

                He knocked on the door twice, and the time he waited for it to be opened by the top of the stairs was enough for Enjolras and Jehan to finally catch up with him. Enjolras attempted, on impulse, to grab Grantaire’s arm and make him look at him, to make him meet his eyes, but without at least turning to face him, Grantaire yanked his forearm away from Enjolras’ grasp. The door opened and the loud sound of the nightclub’s music flooded Enjolras’ ears once more, making him flinch. The cynic, apparently unaffected, passed the door, crossing the dancing floor without paying attention at the looks he was getting from all the blood in his face and heading to the open bar of the club. Enjolras followed him, not even noticing that Claquesous was throwing more offensive words at Jehan.

                The sudden change in the ambient – from a shady, musty and dark underground fight ring to a nightclub dancefloor that was filled with loud rock music and neon lights shining all over – made Enjolras a bit dizzy, but he didn’t allow it to stop him. The people dancing were pushing him and bumping into him, making him lose balance several times, but he finally managed to reach the bar, panting and face flushed. Grantaire was sitting by it, a drink already in hands.

                “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”, Jehan yelled at Grantaire, suddenly appearing from behind Enjolras. He slammed both hands against the barstool beside Grantaire, but the cynic ignored him completely. “This isn’t a fucking game, Grantaire, and you’re already drunk enough!”, he yanked the already empty glass away from Grantaire’s hands, making the man glare at the poet.

                “You asked me to leave the fight ring”, he said, voice filled with sarcasm. “I left the fight ring”.

                “God”, Jehan said, clearly angry and frustrated. He slammed Grantaire’s empty glass against the counter, huffing out a breath and closing his eyes. “How much did you have?”

                “Fuck off”, Grantaire rolled his eyes, ordering another drink from the bartender, who looked the slightest bit apprehensive. Jehan sighed.

                “Grantaire”, Enjolras tried to step in again, noticing how Grantaire’s nose had started to bleed again. “Listen to me. You are unwell. Let us help you”.

                “What makes you think I need your fucking help?”, Grantaire snapped, finally turning to look at Enjolras. Even in the darkness of the nightclub, which had only neon lights as a source of illumination, he could see the bruises forming around Grantaire’s nose and jaw. There was a mixture of dried and fresh blood on his nose, upper lip and chin, making him look like a mess.

                “He’s drunk, Enjolras”, Jehan explained, holding his head in one hand. “He never fights sober. He’s completely shitfaced; he won’t listen to us”.

                Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire, surprised at how well he hid the fact that he was so drunk. He was probably so used to drinking that he had learned to hide the drunkenness, and that fact broke Enjolras’ heart. Grantaire must have seen it in the leader’s face, because the glare he was directing towards him lost some of its intensity.

                “Just leave me alone”, Grantaire mumbled, before turning his back to Enjolras and hunching over the bar counter.

                “No”, Enjolras protested, stepping forwards and forcing himself into Grantaire’s line of sight. This whole thing was his fault. Grantaire had gone out to get drunk and beaten up because of what Combeferre had told him, and Combeferre had only said those things because of Enjolras. And even if it wasn’t his fault, Enjolras wouldn’t be able to just leave and abandon Grantaire to his own luck. “You’re coming with me”.

                “You’re not the boss of me”, Grantaire snarled, sounding like a petulant child and taking a sip of his newfound drink. Enjolras teared the second glass away from his hand with a glare and set it heavily on the counter, passing one of Grantaire’s arms around his shoulder against the man’s will and yanking him out of his seat without warning. Grantaire, already drunk out of his mind, stumbled and Enjolras sustained most of his weight, basically dragging him away from the open bar and towards the emergency exit. Jehan quickly stepped into action and passed Grantaire’s other arm around his shoulder, sharing the man’s weight with Enjolras. Grantaire, who had been aggressive and stubborn mere moments before, seemed to have lost all fight in him, head hanging low between his raised arms and feet barely doing anything other than taking hesitant, eventual steps. People on the dancefloor were forcefully pushed away by the three men, and Grantaire wasn’t making it any easier to carry him, body going limp like deadweight as he gave up on walking. They reached the emergency exit and Claquesous could barely snarl at the trio before Jehan kicked the door open and helped Grantaire out.

                The heavy door closed behind them with a click and Enjolras found himself in a dark, empty alley that was still being filled with the muffled sounds of the music from inside. Grantaire looked like he was trying his best to stand up on his own, trying to free himself from both Enjolras’ and Jehan’s grasp now that they were away from the crowd, but it was to no avail. Enjolras directed Jehan a worried look before using his spare hand to finally fish his phone out of his jacket pocket. There were 6 missed calls from Combeferre and several texts he couldn’t be bothered to read. He opened the dialer and called his best friend, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor as he waited for him to pick up. It didn’t take long, though, and Combeferre answered on the second ring as usual.

                “Enjolras, where the _hell_ are you, I’m worried as shit –“

                “Are you busy?”, Enjolras interrupted.

                “ _What?_ ”, Combeferre asked, actually sounding offended.

                “Are you busy? Where are you?”, Enjolras asked. He had to shift positions to sustain Grantaire’s weight better, and the cynic groaned lowly before muttering something that sounded like “don’ need your help”. Grantaire weakly tried to push Enjolras’ away, but the leader only pulled him closer to prevent him from falling.

                “I’m at your goddamn place, Enjolras, I’ve been here for nearly an hour, my question is where are _you_ , out at nearly midnight –“

                “Can you come pick us up?”, Enjolras interrupted once again.

                “Us _who_?”, Combeferre asked.

                “I found Grantaire”, Enjolras explained, and could hear Combeferre hold his breath on the other side of the line. “I’m with him and Jehan outside a nightclub called Hell Riser. Do you know where that it?”

                Combeferre took a while to answer, and Enjolras thought he could hear a soft “oh my god” being muttered under the man’s breath. He also heard shifting and the sound of keys before Combeferre finally answered.

                “Yeah, I know where it is”, he said, and Enjolras was pretty sure that there was guilt in his friend’s voice. “How is R? Does he need Joly?”

                Enjolras felt a knot form in his throat as he realized that he couldn’t tell. He had seen Grantaire get drunk on several occasions, but he had never seen him like… this. Was this the worst he’d ever been like, or just a normal shit-faced occasion? Enjolras didn’t know, and hated himself for it. Blood was still dripping down Grantaire’s nose, but it didn’t look too serious to him. He pointed Jehan with a questioning look and mouthed at him: “Does he need Joly?”

                Jehan spared Grantaire’s half-propped up form a worried look before meeting Enjolras’ eyes and nodding.

                “Yes, he does”, Enjolras quickly told Combeferre, who took in another harsh intake of breath.

                “Fine, I’m already on my way. I’ll ring you when I get there. Pay attention to your phone”, Combeferre told Enjolras. Before the blond could think of responding, Combeferre hung up and the line went dead.

                Enjolras shoved his phone back in his pocket, trying to shuffle Grantaire into a more comfortable position. He and Jehan slowly dragged Grantaire to one of the alley’s walls, pushing him against the surface and keeping him propped up with their hands. His knees were faltering and shaking, but he seemed to be stable enough in that half-propped position.

                “Let go”, Grantaire slurred, eyes half-closed and sluggishly trying to slap Jehan’s hands away from his shoulder.

                “Shush, R”, Jehan replied, voice high-pitched from worry, despite of the poet’s attempt to hide it.

                “What’s happening to him?”, Enjolras asked nervously. “He was mostly sober when we found him. How did two drinks make him this drunk?”

                “He wasn’t sober”, Jehan explained. “He never fights while sober. The alcohol dulls the pain”.

                “Doesn’t it dull his reflexes, too?”, Enjolras frowned.

                “It does, but I’ve never seen R fight without having something to drink first. I don’t know how he does it”, Jehan shrugged.

                “Don’ talk of me as if I ain’t here”, Grantaire mumbled, not raising his head. Jehan rolled his eyes.

                “He was already drunk when we found him but he’s really fucking good at hiding it”, Jehan continued, glaring at the cynic. “But he just took a beer and two tequilas _really quickly_ and his adrenaline must be running out by now. He’s feeling all the drunkenness at the same time. Also, he nearly got his ass kicked”.

                “Ah, shut the fuck up”, Grantaire grumbled.

                “Don’t be rude”, Jehan protested, looking serious. “I just saved your sorry ass from a _proper_ kicking”.

                “I don’ need saving”, Grantaire snarled, spitting blood again on the floor in front of him.

                “Why did you do this?”, Enjolras asked abruptly, unable to repress the anger and frustration that snapped inside of him anymore. It was probably triggered by the naturality with which Grantaire was treating the fact that he was _selling himself for money_. Why was Grantaire doing this to himself? Why was he indulging on things that had a high chance of killing him?

                “For the thrill of it”, Grantaire smiled sarcastically, raising his head so that Enjolras could see his smirk that showed off his bloodied, pinkish teeth. Enjolras frowned.

                “Have you no regard for yourself at all?!”, the leader snapped, annoyed by the way Grantaire was reacting to his and Jehan’s attempts to help him. “You disappeared without giving word to _any of your friends_! You drove us all mad with worry, and you tell me you did it for the thrill? What’s wrong with you!”

                “Ah, don’t play the fucking saint now”, Grantaire slurred, finally mustering enough strength to prop his own self up and lean heavily against the wall. He raised a hand to throw his hair back and exposed his bruised, bloodied knuckles to Enjolras’ already angry view. “You know very well why I left”.

                “I already told you Combeferre didn’t mean it”, Enjolras replied angrily. Why wasn’t Grantaire taking his seriously? “And even if he had, he doesn’t speak for me. If what he told you upset you so much, you should have discussed it with me instead of running away like this! Do you realize how worried we all were, R? There were searching parties!”, Enjolras continued, voice raising an octave. He needed Grantaire to understand the seriousness of the situation. Why couldn’t he understand?

                “Sorry for being such an inconvenience, _Apollo_ ”, Grantaire snarled sarcastically. He allowed his head to lean against the brick wall behind him, closing his eyes.

                “Where have you been this whole time? Huh?”, Enjolras asked, incredulous. Why was _Grantaire_ doing this? Why wasn’t he able to understand how worried they all were?

                “Why do you care?”, Grantaire huffed, shrugging. Enjolras bit his lower lip. Jehan pointed him with a worried look.

                “Why do I care?”, Enjolras repeated, and the anger inside of his was growing with each sarcastic, self-deprecating word from Grantaire. His heart was thumping madly inside his chest, but for once, it was from anger. “Why do I care?! I care because you’re my friend! I care because I worry about you! I care because I barely slept over these two days wondering if I’d end up finding you dead on a place like this!”, he admitted. As much as his heart cried out for him to, for him to find any way to show Grantaire how much he cared, he couldn’t tell the man that he loved him. Not like this, not on that filthy, errant place. To Enjolras’ frustration, Grantaire merely huffed out another breath.

                “Oh, c’mon Enjolras”, Grantaire slurred, turning his head away from the leader, even if his eyes were still closed. “Maybe you can fool yourself but you can’t fool me. You’ve never cared about me in your life”.

                “Grantaire”, Jehan finally stepped in the conversation, an apprehensive, warning tone in his voice. Grantaire huffed once more.

                “No, lemme finish, I’m not as fucking think as you drunk I am”, Grantaire continued, raising one hand to shut Jehan and allowing his eyes to snap open. He turned to meet Enjolras’ gaze, and even in the barely lit alley, Enjolras could see the shining prevenient from drunkenness in them. “You never gave a crap abou’ me. I don’t know what’s gotten into you on these past days but don’ come aroun’ expecting me to believe this crap ok? Just don’t. Dear Ferre doesn’t think I’m good enough to make you happy and you know what? He’s right, he’s always right ‘bout everything. I ain’t good enough for you, Enjolras”.

                “R…”, Enjolras started, tears threatening to pool in his eyes as the anger inside him dulled. Grantaire shook his head harshly, making a loud “shhhhh” that made all words die in Enjolras’ tongue.

                “So yeah don’ expect me to believe that you suddenly started to like me and, and care about me, and all that crap because it doesn’t add up. And I fucking suck at math but I know it doesn’t add up. Please, just don’t”, he took in a deep, shaky breath, sounding frustrated, before continuing with a shaky voice. “It doesn’t make sense”.

                “R, just… just listen”, Enjolras started again, only to be interrupted by Grantaire’s grip on his arm.

                “No”, Grantaire shook his head vehemently. “I don’t care. I ain’ good for you. I can’t be near you”.

                “You can”, Enjolras outstretched a hand, holding Grantaire’s shoulder and squeezing it. “I permit it. I’m the one supposed to know, not anybody else. I don’t care about what anyone says, I care about what I know. And I know that you’re one of the best people in my life, and I want you near me ok? I don’t want you to go away, otherwise I wouldn’t have come after you. I want you to be safe”.

                Grantaire eyed Enjolras for a long, long time, sad eyes searching the leader’s face for something that Enjolras couldn’t understand. He looked somewhat desperate.

                “’Jolras…”, he slurred, faltering. Jehan promptly pushed the cynic’s shoulder back against the wall to keep him upright before he could fall.

                “R, trust me”, Enjolras said, lowering his hand and taking Grantaire’s into his. With his spare hand, he lifted Grantaire’s chin gently, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Ok? You believe in me, don’t you?”

                Grantaire blinked sluggishly at Enjolras, lowering his head.

                “’Kay”, he sighed. A few, few seconds passed in relative silence, allowing Enjolras to take in a deep breath and let it out, but then Grantaire made a sudden gurgling sound that sent a frown to Enjolras’ brow, and, out of nowhere, he doubled over, vomiting on the floor. Jehan and Enjolras stepped back in surprise as Grantaire fell to his knees on the dirty alley, spilling the contents of his stomach into a sickening puddle in front of him. Despite of the foul smell that made Enjolras’ nose scrunch up, he kneeled down beside Grantaire and pulled his curls away from his sweaty forehead, rubbing a soothing hand on his back.

                “Oh, R, what have you done”, Enjolras muttered sadly. He hadn’t expected that comment to make Grantaire turn his head away from Enjolras angrily, slapping the hand caressing his back away. Enjolras looked up at Jehan, confused, and the poet shrugged sadly at him.

                “Don’ fuckin’ patronize me”, Grantaire muttered, voice hoarse. He doubled over once more, dry heaving, and made terrible retching sounds, but nothing else left his stomach. He was leaning heavily on both his hands and knees now, panting. “I don’ need your pity”.

                Somehow, Grantaire’s tone made Enjolras’ dimming anger return full-strength, burning its way through his chest alongside the hurt from Grantaire’s words. He was just trying to help, why was Grantaire reacting like this?

                “I’m not patronizing you”, Enjolras snapped. “I’m just trying to help”.

                “Don’ need your help”, Grantaire spat, falling back on his bum as he lost balance. Enjolras made to help, but stopped himself in time. “I said ‘m fine”.

                “Fine? Just look at you!”, Enjolras shook his head, incredulous. “You’re bruised all over, there’s blood still dripping from your nose and you just puked on an alley because you’re so drunk!”, he hadn’t meant to talk to Grantaire like this, especially due to the look Jehan was giving him, but how could he stop himself when Grantaire was so stubbornly insisting to get hurt? Enjolras couldn’t watch and allow that silently, without at least trying to put some sense into him. “Look at what you’re doing with your life, R. Is this where you see yourself in ten years?”

                “In ten years I see myself cold beneath the ground, my guy, but that ain’t the answer you want to hear”, Grantaire scoffed, not bothering to look up at Enjolras.

Grantaire’s answer was like a bucket of cold water to Enjolras’ face. He could only stare, shock written all over his face and mouth gaping. Grantaire glared up at him, something akin to defiance in his teary eyes. All Enjolras could feel was the numbness of his own face and the mad pounding of his heart as the weight of Grantaire’s words sunk and carved itself into his brain. Images of a gurgling, bleeding, _dying_ Grantaire flooded his memories, followed by the remembrance of the despair he had felt upon seeing his friend dying and being helpless to do anything about it. He hadn’t meant to slap Grantaire, or at least not as hard as he just had, but he did, and the sound of Enjolras’ palm colliding noisily with the flesh of Grantaire’s cheek echoed across the alley over the muffled music coming from the nightclub. Jehan gasped in shock, and now Enjolras could add the burning sting of his own hand to the list of his current feelings. Grantaire’s head had turned from the impact of the unexpected blow, and he didn’t bother to turn it back towards Enjolras, a humorless smile dancing on his bloodied lips.

“Never say that again”, Enjolras heard his own shaky voice say, merely above a whisper. He was breathing heavily, tears welling up in his eyes, because how could Grantaire possibly say that? How could he diminish the worth of his own life like that, so naturally, so freely? Did he not know the pain he would inflict on his friends with his death? Did he really deem Enjolras so cruel to the point of waving his death off as if it was nothing? What had Enjolras ever done to make Grantaire feel that undeserving of his love? Just the mere thought of never seeing the cynic again was troubling. Enjolras had suffered from the man’s death in a way he never thought he could; having him say something as heavy as that to his face, after everything he had gone through, was enough to break Enjolras’ heart all over again.

The tension on the alley was nearly tangible, and Grantaire still hadn’t lifted his head to look at Enjolras. Jehan’s eyes were once again darting between Enjolras and Grantaire, nervously trying to figure out what he should do. Grantaire was breathing heavily through his nose, eyes somewhat unfocused and sick smile slowly dying on his lips. Enjolras was near to panting, biting on his lower lip to prevent from bursting into tears. He wanted to say something, _anything_ , to make Grantaire understand. _You are important. I care about you. You don’t deserve to die. I want to have you in my life. You are loved._

But then, just as he was about to muster the courage to speak, his phone began to buzz inside his pocket. It took Enjolras a few seconds to understand what was happening, and all his strength to tear his eyes away from Grantaire’s beaten up form to find the device and answer the call.

“Where are you?”, Enjolras greeted, more sharply than he had intended.

“I’m in front of the club, on the other side of the sidewalk”, Combeferre answered pragmatically. “Do you need help?”

“No”, Enjolras breathed out, voice constricted. He attempted to stand up on his shaky feet, knees wobbling and hand leaning heavily on the brick wall for support. Jehan looked like he wanted to help but was too apprehensive to leave Grantaire’s side. Enjolras took in a deep breath, despite of the foul stench of vomit, to try and calm himself. “We’re on our way”, he told Combeferre, managing to keep a neutral voice before hanging up and placing his phone inside his jacket once more. “Combeferre arrived”, he announced, even though he didn’t need to. He picked up one of Grantaire’s arms with more strength than necessary, fearing that he’d attempt to escape, and hoisted him into a somewhat standing position effortlessly.

“Let go o’ me”, Grantaire muttered, head low. He was trying to yank his arm away from Enjolras’ grasp to free himself, and his constant struggling was making it impossible for Enjolras and Jehan to drag him to the car. Because of that, something ugly inside Enjolras finally snapped, and after the suddenness of the rush that the alien feeling brought passed, he realized he was yanking Grantaire away from Jehan’s grip and pushing him back against the wall, both hands on his shoulders to pine him to the surface and making it impossible for Grantaire not to look Enjolras in the eye.

“Listen to me, you stupid, reckless man”, Enjolras started, tears finally making their way up to his eyes and welling there. Grantaire seemed genuinely surprised at the attitude, eyes widening slightly at the sight of Enjolras’ flushed, furious, _worried_ face. “I’m not letting go of you”, Enjolras continued, voice faltering but never losing its tone. “You are my friend, and you are hurt, and I don’t know what kind of man you take me for, but if you knew a single thing about me, you’d know that I don’t turn my back to those in need, and especially not to those that I care about. So you are going with me to Joly’s, he is going to patch you up, and when you’re sober and recovered I am going to make you see just how worthy you are, even if it takes me the rest of my life”.

There was a small pause in which both of them merely stared at each other, Enjolras’ eyes mimicking Grantaire’s and widening too. What had he just said? And most importantly, how had he mustered the courage to say so? The tension between them only grew with each millisecond, feeling like some sort of aftermath to the crescendo that was finding Grantaire fighting. There was something about Grantaire’s gaze that had softened at Enjolras’ words, and Enjolras exhaled a shaky breath before retrieving one of his hands to wipe a tear away from one of his eyes, sniffing with embarrassment. He slowly retrieved his shaky hands from Grantaire’s confused form, looking almost regretful about his sudden outburst. He lowered his head for a few seconds, in a foolish attempt to recompose himself, before looking back up at Grantaire with embarrassingly pleading eyes.

“Just please, let me help you”, Enjolras ended up whispering, voice verging desperation and eyes never leaving Grantaire’s. He had never felt so helpless in his life. All he wanted was to help Grantaire and make him happy, and to see him like this, beaten up and bloodied, broke Enjolras’ heart. He wanted to do him right, he wanted to… do something. He wanted to feel in control again, and most of all, he wanted to make up for the lost time, to make Grantaire feel happy and worthy at least once in his life.

But instead he ended up sending Grantaire further away from him, making him indulge on even more self-destructing habits. What was Enjolras doing wrong?

Grantaire stared at Enjolras’ for what felt like an eternity before sighing in resign, head dropping.

“Fine”, he groaned, voice low and raspy. Enjolras’ heart blossomed with something warm, and he hesitated for a few seconds before finally passing Grantaire’s (less reluctant) arm around his shoulder again. All fight seemed to have left the cynic’s body by then, and Jehan gently stepped in and aided Enjolras, placing Grantaire’s other arm around his own shoulder. Soon they were both carrying Grantaire out of the alley.

Enjolras immediately spotted Combeferre nervously standing beside Courfeyrac’s car across the street, subtly looking around in search for them. They crossed the street with some difficulty, Grantaire barely managing to take steps as his legs refused to obey him, and Enjolras could see the way Combeferre’s face shifted into a horrified expression upon seeing Grantaire’s dragged form. Behind them, they could still hear the muffled music coming from the nightclub.

“Oh my god”, Combeferre breathed out, stepping forward to the middle of the street and taking Grantaire from Jehan’s form, since he was taller than the poet. As they got to the car, Jehan opened the back door, but instead of helping Enjolras place Grantaire inside the car, Combeferre pulled the cynic into a breathtaking hug, burying his face against Grantaire’s shoulder.

“What were you thinking?”, he asked, but there was no scolding or reprehension in his tone, which was surprising. Grantaire looked drunk and confused, but raised his arms to somewhat return Combeferre’s hug, looking hesitant. Combeferre broke the hug after a few seconds, pushing Grantaire back with two hands holding his shoulders and taking an expression that was a mixture of horror and anger. “Never, and I mean _never_ , do this again or I swear to god, I will personally ground you”, he said, tone serious. Grantaire stared at him, confused, but then Combeferre’s expression softened and he pulled him into another hug. “I’m so sorry”, he whispered against Grantaire’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you”.

“O…kay?”, Grantaire hesitated, blinking sluggishly. Enjolras noticed the way the cynic started to melt into his friend’s hug, relaxing into the warmth that Combeferre’s body provided, and cleared his throat before Grantaire finally passed out.

“We should go before we get robbed”, Enjolras said, embarrassed, and Combeferre broke the hug once more, looking between the leader and the cynic before nodding.

“You’re right”, he said, finally letting go of Grantaire, who stumbled and looked unsteady on his feet without someone’s hands on him. “You three, get in the back. We’re going to Joly’s”.

“Why can’t I go in the front?”, Jehan basically pouted, helping Enjolras to lower Grantaire into the car without having his head bumped.

“Brownie’s on the front”, Combeferre explained as if it was an obvious information, getting inside the car and starting it. Enjolras was the last one to hop inside the vehicle, sitting beside Grantaire, who was sandwiched between himself and Jehan.

“You brought my dog?”, Enjolras asked, frowning, and pointedly ignoring the way Grantaire’s head fell against his shoulder as soon as he entered the car.

“Of course I brought the dog”, Combeferre explained, starting to drive away from the club. He didn’t look at Enjolras as he spoke. “I wouldn’t just leave him alone in the apartment”.

“Good parenting”, Grantaire mumbled almost unintelligibly against Enjolras’ shoulder. As if to prove Combeferre’s point, Brownie’s head appeared from beneath the seat, tongue hanging loosely from his mouth as he panted excitedly. The seatbelt was keeping him in place against the seat.

“Oh, shush”, Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately, subtly pulling Grantaire closer to him. The cynic nuzzled against Enjolras’ neck and in less than two minutes he was sound asleep, snoring almost unnoticeably. Jehan gave the pair a warm look before fishing his phone out of his pocket to text someone.

Enjolras turned his head the best he could to stare at Grantaire’s sleeping form, lips twisting into a half-smile at the sight. Grantaire’s mouth was slack open and despite of the dried blood on his nose and the blossoming bruises on his face, he looked peaceful. Some of his curls were falling on the top of his eyes and Enjolras raised a hand to gently push them away, allowing his fingertips to linger by Grantaire’s jaw. Grantaire sighed in his sleep and snuggled closer to Enjolras, head leaning against the leader’s chest as he slept. None of the car members said anything as Enjolras allowed the hand that had been caressing Grantaire’s face to slide its way to Grantaire’s chest, resting gently on the top of it and silently rejoicing, relieved, the feeling of the steady heartbeat inside his chest.

Despite of everything, he was still alive, and that was all that mattered.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Joly was understandably sent into a state of shock as soon as he opened the door of his apartment and was faced with Grantaire’s unconscious form hanging from Combeferre and Enjolras, arms passed around their shoulders and head hanging low. Enjolras noticed the way all blood escaped from the doctor’s face in the blink of an eye, making him look as pale as a ghost. His mouth opened and his eyes widened, but before he could either pass out from surprise or be permanently frozen on the spot, Jehan passed the trio and entered the apartment uninvited, Brownie cuddled in his arm, a hand gently squeezing Joly’s shoulder.

“He’s ok, he’s just really drunk”, Jehan explained, and that was enough to make some life return to Joly’s body. He met Jehan’s eyes, fear still stamped in his face, and nodded briefly. Enjolras took that as a sign and urged Combeferre to help him drag Grantaire into the apartment, carefully avoiding to bump into anything potentially harmful to Grantaire’s limp legs.

“To the bedroom”, Joly instructed simply, swallowing dry and rubbing a nervous hand across his forehead, immediately following the leader and the guide as they struggled to take Grantaire to the man’s own bedroom. Only then Enjolras remembered that Grantaire shared an apartment with Joly and Bossuet. Jehan closed the apartment’s front door with a click before going after his friends.

Enjolras wouldn’t admit to the relief he felt as soon as Grantaire’s body dropped heavily on the mattress, making stretching movements with his arms to relieve the soreness of his shoulders. Grantaire wasn’t exactly fit, but he wasn’t large either. Enjolras didn’t understand how his apparently thin form could weight so much.

“What happened?”, Joly asked, promptly stepping forward to examine Grantaire, who groaned lowly at the doctor’s touch. “Where was he?”

“Hell Riser”, Combeferre responded simply with a pant. Joly momently froze again, looking up at Combeferre with something in his eyes that could only be described as betrayal. He couldn’t find it in himself to ask if Combeferre was being serious; everyone knew Combeferre didn’t lie. A few seconds of tense silence passed before Joly blinked dumbly and went back to checking Grantaire, pulling his shirt up to reveal his already colored torso. Several bruises were already forming, some brownish, some yellowish, most of them around Grantaire’s ribs and stomach. Joly passed a nervous hand across his thin hair and took a deep breath, lowering Grantaire’s shirt as if to preserve what was left of his modesty.

“Alright, I’m going to need some help”, he announced without looking up from his friend’s passed out form. “I need someone to fetch me hot water, a clean cloth, the icepacks that are in the fridge and water for him to drink. One of you, go wake Lesgle up and explain to him what happened. I need to take his shirt off, someone give me a hand”, he said, standing up from the edge of the bed and pulling one of Grantaire’s arms upwards. Enjolras hesitated for a millisecond before stepping forward, grabbing the cynic’s other arm and mimicking Joly. Jehan gently pulled Grantaire’s shirt up as Combeferre disappeared into the kitchen to fetch what Joly had asked, and after a few moments struggling against Grantaire’s obnoxiously unhelping form, they were able to pull the shirt off of him. The cynic fell back against the bed once more, another muffled groan escaping his lips.

“I’ll go talk to Lesgle”, Jehan announced, carefully folding Grantaire’s shirt – which was stained with droplets of blood – and settling it neatly on the top of a pile of clothes on scattered across the floor. Jehan disappeared through the door and Enjolras, who followed the poet with his eyes, finally came to the realization that this was the first time he’d ever been to Grantaire’s room.

Surely, he had come to Joly’s place on several occasions in the past, but he had never wandered further than the bathroom. Grantaire’s room was the guest room, the last door in the corridor. There had never been any reason for Enjolras to go there uninvited, and now that he thought about it, it felt a bit intrusive to be inside the man’s room without any consensual invitation. Grantaire snored loudly on the bed and Enjolras startled, noticing that he had spent too long staring at the mess of clothes on the floor.

“I’ve been meaning to clean that up”, Joly explained absentmindedly, not looking at Enjolras. He had pulled one of Grantaire’s eyelids open and was shining a flashlight at it to check his pupils. “But honestly, I have no motivation to do so. He’d end up making a mess out of it again in less time than it takes to clean it up”.

Enjolras had no idea what to respond to that, so he settled for being quiet.

Grantaire’s room was messy, but somehow, it looked like an organized chaos. Yes, his clothes were scattered across the floor, but they were thrown at spots in which no one would have to normally step on. And yes, there were books thrown around the entire room, but somehow, this lack of cleanness didn’t bother Enjolras. He found himself quite astonished by Grantaire’s taste on literature, and on the sheer number of books he seemed to own.

“R is like a child sometimes”, Joly sighed, shaking his head. “He can’t seem to keep his room neat and he always ends up getting himself into harm’s way just out of spite”. Joly lowered his head, fidgeting with the flashlight in his hands. “I just don’t know how to deal with him when he acts like this”.

Joly’s speech reminded Enjolras of Grantaire’s cold words back in that alley, about how he saw himself dead in ten years. Enjolras was aware of – in fact, he was almost used to – Grantaire’s constant derogatory comments about himself, and the self-deprecation that didn’t quite seem to ever leave the cynic’s eyes. Was he really getting himself into harm’s way just out of some sick spite? Did he really value his life so little that he was willing to get himself killed? Did he really not know how much his death would damage his friends? How it would affect them?

“Joly”, Enjolras called, unable, as always, to keep his doubts to himself. Joly looked up at him, and the weight of the words Enjolras was about to say made his heart sink. He couldn’t look the doctor in the eyes as he spoke. “After I found him, I…”, Enjolras took a deep breath. “I asked him something. I asked if… if that place, that, that fight ring, was where he saw himself in ten years. And… and he answered something that…”, Enjolras trailed off, nervous. Joly frowned slightly.

Enjolras hated when this happened. Give him a crowd full of angry people and he can talk to them so easily, so naturally. Give him a single person and he begins to stutter. What’s the point of being born a natural leader if he can’t even communicate with his friends? That’s why he always avoided to engage on recreational situations, or on casual hangouts. Other than needing to spend his time on the cause, he didn’t seem to be able to properly socialize, not even with those who were closest to him, sometimes.

But Joly was staring at him with expectation in his eyes, and as much as Enjolras didn’t want to finish that sentence – or that subject, now that he thought about it – he needed to. He had to know. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“He said that he saw himself dead in ten years”, Enjolras said, and the weight of those words, the remembrance of Grantaire telling him that, was more than he could bear. He wanted to cry and scream, but had no energy to do so. All he could do was look at Joly, grief and guilt stamped clearly in his eyes. Exhaustion was there, too, sleepless and worried nights appearing in the form of dark, purplish shades beneath his eyes.

Joly lowered his eyes back at Grantaire, who was still fast asleep. He rubbed a hand at his forehead, looking helpless and exhausted. He opened his mouth to speak, to answer Enjolras’ question, but before he could do so, Jehan reappeared in the room, a sleepy Bossuet close on his heels, rubbing one of his eyes. Enjolras locked eyes with Joly for a few more seconds before looking away in resignation. That was not the time or place to talk about that subject, and… and… maybe it would be better if he talked about it with Grantaire alone.

Jehan sat on the floor by the bed, leaning his upper back on the mattress and finally settling Brownie on the floor. The puppy, who looked sleepy, cuddled between Jehan’s knees and instead of walking around the room as he always seemed to do, closed his eyes to take a nap. Bossuet, on the other hand, closed the distance between himself and Grantaire’s bed with large, long steps, searching Joly’s face for any sign that he should worry.

“What the hell happened?”, Bossuet finally asked, when he didn’t seem to find the answer he was looking for in his boyfriend’s face. “Where was he? Please, don’t say he was –“

“Hell Riser”, Joly answered with a sigh, shaking his head briefly. Combeferre finally reappeared into the room, trying clumsily to balance everything Joly had asked him to bring in both hands. With Bossuet’s help, he settled a pot with boiled water on Grantaire’s messy nightstand, struggling to find an empty space between all the books and sketches. He handed the icepacks over to Bossuet, who handed them to Joly, and settled the cup of water for Grantaire to drink on the stand beside the pot. Finally, he handed the cloth, which was thrown over his shoulder, directly to Joly, who silently nodded his thanks and went back to working on Grantaire.

Grantaire groaned once again and blinked his eyes open as soon as Joly began dabbing at his nose with the water-coated cloth, sluggishly trying to get away from the touch. Joly clicked his tongue and muttered a snappy “stay still” before going back to cleaning the dry blood away from Grantaire’s upper lip and chin, taking care not to put too much pressure on his apparently broken nose.

“Stop”, Grantaire mumbled, sighing and propping himself into a half-sitting position on his bed. He seemed out of balance for a few seconds, but managed to recompose himself just enough to hoist his body up and lean back against the wall.

“What were you thinking?”, Joly asked quietly. There was no accusation or aggressiveness in his tone, only a calm, patient dryness that was so rarely seen on him that the tone made a shiver run down Enjolras’ spine. He sounded betrayed.

“Can we please not talk ‘bout this right now?”, Grantaire slurred, still sounding a bit drunk. Joly bit his lower lip, hand holding the bloodstained cloth tightening its grip.

“Don’t think we _won’t_ talk about this”, Joly said through gritted teeth, leaning forward to reach for Grantaire’s nose with the cloth again. The cynic looked slightly annoyed by it, but didn’t protest. “You betrayed my trust”, Joly added a few tense seconds, and Enjolras noticed the way Grantaire’s eyes dropped in shame at this. Suddenly, the leader felt the need to escape, to be anywhere but on that room, prying on that clearly private moment between the best friends. Combeferre painted Enjolras with a questioning look and the leader sunk further back into the room, back contacting with a wall silently.

“’M sorry, Joly”, Grantaire ended up sighing, still not meeting the doctor’s eyes. Joly resumed cleaning the blood away from Grantaire’s face and discarded the cloth inside the pot with absentmindedness. Joly was clearly avoiding Grantaire’s eyes now, hands professionally pushing the cynic back into a lying position and placing the icepacks all over his torso.

“Your nose is broken”, Joly stated matter-of-factly, never meeting Grantaire’s eyes as he meticulously resumed putting the icepacks on.

“Did the shape come out better this time?”, Grantaire asked with a crooked smile. There was hesitance in his eyes, though, Enjolras could tell even with the distance from which he was standing. The cynic was staring at Joly hopefully, almost apprehensively, and then Enjolras realized that the smile, albeit crooked and intended to look playful, bared more nervousness than anything else. As if Grantaire was afraid that Joly wouldn’t forgive him.

Joly, on the other hand, didn’t respond, taking the cup of cool water from the nightstand and handing it over to Grantaire instead. The cynic hesitated for a few moments, staring up at his best friend, before lifting his arm to take the cup and then wincing in a way that made the icepacks shift and Joly flinch.

“God, why would you do this to yourself? We talked about this”, he hissed, fussing with the icepacks all over again, apparently unable to give Grantaire the cold shoulder any longer. “You’re an irresponsible man, that’s what you are”, Joly began to mumble, sounding as if he was talking more to himself than to Grantaire. He prodded at Grantaire’s ribs to check if they were broken with a little more force than necessary, and Grantaire hissed. “You had all of us worried like shit, and for what? For this”, he placed the icepacks on their intended place once again and rubbed a hand across his face. “We will have a serious, serious talk about self-preservation as soon as you’re sober enough. By the way, pray to whatever deity you happen to believe in that you don’t wake up nauseous tomorrow morning, because so help me god, if you do and you need to throw up, it will be messy and painful. Your ribs are bruised, and I don’t recommend bending for at least some days. And absolutely. No. Alcohol”.

“Right”, Grantaire scoffed, smiling crookedly again.

“Did I fucking stutter?”, Joly snapped, and Bossuet had to take a step forward, finally unfolding his arms, which had been crossed above his chest so far, to hold his boyfriend back with two calming hands on the top of the doctor’s shoulders.

“How are you feeling, R?”, Bossuet asked, sounding calm even though his eyes showed off the worry and disapproval he must have been feeling.

“Drunk”, Grantaire raised a skeptic eyebrow, tilting his head back. “Tired. My ribs hurt a little”, he shrugged. “But hey!”, his face suddenly lit up, as if he had just remembered something very important. Despite of the pain it must have caused him, he shifted on the bed, reaching for the back of his pocket. He pulled out a bunch of crumbled notes and handed it over to Joly, who picked it up with a shocked expression. “At least I can pay for the month’s rent for once”.

Joly gaped at Grantaire for a few tense seconds before throwing the money back at the cynic’s face with full force.

“Is that what this is about?”, Joly screamed, there was no other definition for it. Bossuet retrieved his hands from the doctor’s shoulders, startled, and Grantaire fidgeted with the money that fell to his chest. Joly, who so far had been the face of reluctant professionalism, had completely broken out of his façade. There were tears welled up in his eyes now, and his face was scrunching up in anger and frustration as he yelled at Grantaire’s drunken form. “ _Money?_ You do realize how fucking worried we all were?”, he continued, and Grantaire flinched on the bed. Brownie woke up and began hopping around the room excitedly, while Jehan got to his feet, startled by the sudden burst of emotions. Enjolras merely watched, eyes slightly wide, from where he was leaning against the wall, Combeferre walking to his side. “I don’t want your fucking money, Grantaire, you can keep it and do with it what you want! It’s actually un-fucking-believable that you have the audacity of justifying your two-day disappearance with a rent payment! When did I ever charge you for living here? How fucking dare you treat me as a landlord instead of your best friend? For all I knew you could be lying dead in an alley somewhere and you come back with a fucking painting for a chest and a handful of money and you think that’s it?! It’s all ok because you’re paying me? I can’t fucking believe you, honestly, I can’t”.

“Maybe we should go?”, Jehan suggested, eyes darting between Enjolras and Combeferre. He slowly bent down to pick up the startled puppy in his arms once more, approaching the pair by the wall hesitantly.

“None of you are going any fucking where!”, Joly immediately interrupted, raising a hand and making the already hesitant Jehan freeze on his feet. The amount of cursing that Joly was throwing made Enjolras uneasy, for he wasn’t used to seeing his friend that nervous or aggressive. Joly turned his back to Grantaire so that he could look at Enjolras, who was finally able to see the tears that were streaming down the doctor’s face. “I can’t do this right now”, Joly told Enjolras, voice infinitely calmer than it had been seconds before. Now that he wasn’t yelling, the trembling of his tone was perfectly hearable.

“Joly, I’m sorry”, it was Grantaire who interrupted, guilt and regret clear in his tone as he called his friend’s name. Joly merely raised his hand again, silencing the man.

“I can’t do this right now”, Joly repeated, taking a deep, shaky breath as if to recompose himself. “And neither can him. I really, really need to take a tranquilizer and sleep this series of shitty days off. I can’t… I can’t stay near him, not right now. Don’t let him out of this bed unless if it’s to go to the bathroom”. Upon seeing Enjolras’ hesitation, his gaze softened. “Please, just… do this for me. Just for tonight”.

“Alright”, it was Combeferre who nodded. “We’ll look after him. You’re very stressed, Joly, do you want me to make you some tea?”

Joly rubbed a hand across his face, all adrenaline wearing off of him in very little time.

“No, no, thank you”, he said, sounding as if he was slowly returning to his senses. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled”, he told the trio, lowering his head. “I… I just didn’t sleep at all these past few days, and I allowed stress to take the best of me. I’m sorry”.

“It’s ok”, Combeferre reassured with a squeeze to Joly’s shoulder. “Just get some sleep, alright?”. Joly nodded, and the weight of all the stress he had felt on those past days seemed to catch up on him. His shoulders slumped and he dragged himself out of Grantaire’s room, ignoring the cynic’s eyes that followed him all the way. Bossuet seemed to hesitate, eyes darting between Joly’s leaving form and Grantaire’s guilty face on the bed. “It’s fine, go keep him company”, Combeferre sighed.

“Nah”, Bossuet shrugged. “If I know Joly, he’ll want to have some alone time. Plus, someone has to keep a close eye on this sucker”, he pointed Grantaire with a reprehending look, but it wasn’t as serious as Joly’s.

“Bossuet…”, Grantaire started, but Bossuet ignored him completely, climbing on the bed beside him and pulling Grantaire’s covers on the top of him. Enjolras, Combeferre and Jehan watched awkwardly from where they were standing by the wall, unsure of what they should do. Grantaire eyed Bossuet with confusion, the hint of a frown appearing between his eyebrows. Bossuet cuddled closer to Grantaire, throwing one arm above the man’s chest and actually closing his eyes as if he was prepared to sleep. When he realized that none of his friends had moved into action, he let out a sigh, and raising an eyebrow, asked, with his eyes still closed: “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s make a cuddle pile”.

Jehan promply stepped into action, placing Brownie on the floor once more and walking around the bed so that he could lie down behind Bossuet, hugging him. Combeferre shared a precautious look with Enjolras, looking for consent in the leader’s face.

“You won’t hurt him”, Bossuet said, as if reading Enjolras’ thoughts. “Well. Not any further than he already is”, he added with a hint of bitterness in his tone. Enjolras finally dared to meet Grantaire’s eyes and found the cynic to be staring at him, gaze glassy and clearly drunk.

“Cuddle pile!”, Jehan merely said, raising his head so that he could be seen from behind Bossuet’s shoulder and excitement filling his tone, as if that single statement was reason enough to convince the hesitant pair.

“Fine”, Combeferre said, albeit he still sounded unsure. He walked around the bed as Jehan had, lying down behind the poet and cuddling him. The bed was now crowded; there was no way for Enjolras to lie down comfortably on it unless he climbed on the top of either Grantaire or Combeferre. He locked eyes with the cynic once more, and found the injured man’s eyes to be glued to him, something akin to defiance clear in his gaze. As much as Enjolras wanted to lie down near Grantaire – there was no denying to it anymore, was there? –, it would be impractical and unwise. Grantaire was hurt, as much as he wasn’t feeling it much yet because of the alcohol dulling his senses. Enjolras’ weight on the top of him would probably make things worse, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt Grantaire further.

The cynic gave Enjolras a self-deprecating, grievous look as the leader walked over to lie on the top of Combeferre, probably thinking that Enjolras was upset at him and didn’t want to be near him. The friends on the bed shifted to the side to give Enjolras a bit more of space, and Combeferre took him receptively into his arms as Enjolras lied down, body glued to his best friend’s. Enjolras was used to sleeping cuddled to Combeferre – they used to do it all the time when they shared an apartment, though it felt odd not having Courfeyrac behind him to complement the cuddle pile – so there should be no reason for him to feel any sort of awkwardness in that situation.

Except Grantaire was lying a few inches from him on the bed.

Oh, god. He was lying on _Grantaire’s bed_.

All the events from the night slowly sunk into Enjolras’ brain, and he found himself unable to sleep, eyes wide open in the darkness of Grantaire’s room, Grantaire’s scent invading his nostrils as a constant reminder of where he was and what had happened. He could feel that Combeferre was also awake beneath Enjolras’ body, but at least he had been polite enough to close his eyes and pretend to be asleep. Jehan and Bossuet, on the other hand, were asleep in the matter of a few minutes, and the poet was already snoring lightly. Enjolras couldn’t tell whether Grantaire was asleep or awake, but assuming that he was still very drunk, Enjolras assumed that he had already embraced Morpheus.

Enjolras couldn’t get the image of seeing Grantaire fighting in that hellish nightclub from his head. The sound of the deafening music still seemed to echo in his ears, contrasting with the near-absolute silence of the room. The sight of Grantaire getting punched in the face due to his distraction with Enjolras made him have to suppress a flinch, and the sight of the blood running down the cynic’s chin made Enjolras’ heart speed up. Memories of blood leaking from a bullet hole in Grantaire’s stomach made Enjolras shut his eyes tightly, but that only seemed to make the memories feel more vivid and real. He couldn’t wipe that image off his mind, he couldn’t forget about Grantaire’s death. Everything he had done so far to amend for his mistakes had failed terribly, and Enjolras no longer knew what he was supposed to do. His time was running out and he felt as if Grantaire was slipping through his fingers, near enough to be at Enjolras’ sight but always away from his grasp. Enjolras could see him, and hear him, and talk to him, but that was still a barrier that prevented them from touching, and it wasn’t a physical one. Enjolras didn’t have the necessary courage to cross the line that divided them, and that was the reason why everything seemed to go wrong. But he didn’t have time to allow things to go wrong. He needed to jump into action.

If he really wanted to go out with Grantaire, he’d have to ask him. If he really wanted Grantaire to get better, he’d have to help him. There was no way for Enjolras to solve things if he kept waiting for the situation to solve itself.

This was what bothered him the most. Enjolras had never been a man to stand idly and wait for things to solve themselves. He was a man of action; he’d always step into the scene and act to improve the situation. He’d make speeches, plan rallies, or do whatever he could to help others. But it seemed that, ever since Grantaire’s death, he became afraid to directly interfere on things. Maybe it was the responsibility he felt over the cynic’s death, and the fear that if he got involved, he’d be responsible.

But he couldn’t live like that. The altruistic part of himself was dormant within him, but desperate to burst out again. He noticed that he hadn’t worked on anything cause-related for nearly a week. He hadn’t written speeches, or planned meetings, or even read the news lately. His only thoughts were Grantaire, how he could save Grantaire, how he could help Grantaire, or be close to him again, or make him happy. Was it really right of him to neglect the rest of the world for Grantaire’s sake?

Because Enjolras had been born with a purpose, and he had always known that. He was meant to help people, and to make the world better for them, even if just a little bit. Injustice made his skin itch and oppression made his heart cry. He had _never_ been able to sit still and watch others suffer, not even as a child. And as much as he couldn’t bear to watch Grantaire, one of his friends, to suffer, was it ethically correct to put his necessities over the rest of France’s? Was it right of Enjolras to neglect his life mission over one man? Was it right to put the needs of a few over the needs of the many?

The sudden epiphany hit him so hard that his heart began to race once more. Combeferre, who was lying directly beneath Enjolras’ body and was, in fact, sustaining most of the leader’s weight, must have noticed the erratic change of his heartbeat pattern, for he raised a hand to rub soothing circles across Enjolras’ back. They knew each other well enough to know exactly when to offer physical comfort rather than just verbal. And right now, that seemed to be all Enjolras needed: a good friend holding him and caressing him back into calmness. Combeferre had screwed up, yes, but he had been sincerely sorry for his actions and redeemed himself on Enjolras’ eyes. After all, if it hadn’t been for Combeferre, Enjolras wouldn’t have been able to drag Grantaire’s incompliant body back home.

But despite of Combeferre’s hand on his back, which did ease him a little, Enjolras was still unable to figure out what to do. He had less than 30 days left by Grantaire’s side. Could he really put off the needs of his people for that long, just so that he could make best of the time he had left by the cynic’s side? Was that right? Was that selfish? What was the right answer? Somehow, the thought of neglecting Grantaire, after all the years Enjolras had already spent neglecting him, sounded wrong and unfair, especially after the second chance he had received. But neglecting his country and his people also sounded wrong and unfair, and Enjolras no longer knew what to do. The only apparent way out of this would be to conciliate both things, both needs, and somehow manage to give Grantaire the attention he deserved while also caring for the cause that he had been born to accomplish.

Somewhere in between this confusing epiphany, Enjolras must have finally fallen asleep, body too tired to handle the stress from the past two days, after all, Enjolras had barely gotten any sleep while Grantaire was gone. His mind was filled with darkness and, thankfully, he didn’t have any nightmares to wake him up from his already uneasy sleep. When he finally woke up, he felt more warm and comfortable than he remembered feeling in a while, a body cuddled next to his and a pleasant scent filling his nostrils.

Then he made the mistake of opening his eyes, and couldn’t prevent his heartrate from rising again when he saw who was cuddling him.

Combeferre, Jehan and Bossuet were nowhere to be seen, and Enjolras was alone on the bed with Grantaire, who had his head resting against Enjolras’ chest and an arm thrown above the leader’s torso. One of his legs were intertwined with Enjolras’, pinning him to the bed, and Enjolras noticed that his own arm was stuck beneath Grantaire’s form, somewhat holding him in place. The cynic must have noticed the way Enjolras’ breathing pattern grew faster or how his hearbeat seemed to double speed, because he shifted slightly, groaning in the process. Enjolras could merely gape at Grantaire’s sleeping form, both astonished at how _cute_ he looked with his mouth slightly open in his sleep and horrified at the realization that there was no way he could get out of the bed without waking him up.

Now that he was faced with this sudden truth, Enjolras realized that, at some point, he would have to confront Grantaire on the events of the previous night. But now that he put more thought into it, he didn’t want to push Grantaire further away from him and Joly would probably scold him enough. Right now, what Enjolras really needed was to go to the bathroom before his bladder exploded, but he also didn’t want to wake Grantaire up. Now that he could look at him more closely, he saw the heavy bruising all across the bridge of Grantaire’s nose and halfway beneath his eyes. Thankfully, there was no longer blood on his face, but the bruising didn’t look like it would fade away easily.

Grantaire shifted again with a tiny sleepy noise that made Enjolras’ heart go back into a tap-dancing spree all over again, and moved his legs away from the leader’s. Enjolras took this as his opportunity and, as gently as he could, removed Grantaire’s arm from the top of his, careful not to wake him up. Enjolras then proceeded to shift away from the cynic, as slowly as he could, and pretending his heart didn’t ache when Grantaire made a displeased noise on the back of his throat and unconsciously outstretched a hand in search for Enjolras after he got up. He affectionately watched Grantaire sleeping for a few seconds, to make sure if he would be ok, before quietly darting away from the room and towards the bathroom.

After releaving himself and rinsing his mouth, Enjolras walked to the kitchen, where he had heard quiet voices speaking unintelligibly. He was met with Combeferre, Joly and Bossuet sitting by the kitchen counter, hunched forwards so they could talk quietly and be heard by each other. None of them noticed Enjolras’ arrival until the leader cleared his throat lowly, making his friends raise their heads immediately to look at him. Bossuet, unlucky as always, ended up bumping his head against Joly’s in his surprise.

“Ah, good morning”, Combeferre greeted as Joly rubbed at the sore spot in his forehead. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine”, Enjolras said, even though it was only half-truth. He spotted the coffee mug beside Combeferre, and before he even had to say anything, his best friend pushed it towards him with a single gesture. Enjolras gave him a thanking look before taking a sip off the mug.

“Is R awake?”, Bossuet asked, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“No”, Enjolras said, sitting beside Combeferre and downing his coffee with one single gulp. “Where’s Prouvaire?”, he ended up frowning, looking around to see that the poet was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, he went home”, Joly explained absentmindedly.

“And so should we”, Combeferre added, standing up from his seat with a sigh. “Joly and Bossuet want to talk to R when he wakes up and we should respect their privacy”.

“Oh”, Enjolras said, slightly surprised. He had expected them to leave soon, but not… this soon. But what was he expecting? It would be better this way, if he didn’t have to face Grantaire right away. “Alright”, he said, placing the mug quietly against the counter and standing up beside Combeferre.

“Thank you for finding him, Enjolras”, Joly said with honesty. “I forgot to tell you that last night. If it hadn’t been for you…”, he trailed off with a sight. “I wouldn’t have thought of looking for him there, you know. He promised that he’d never go back there”.

“It’s ok, Joly”, Enjolras nodded with sincerity. “I worry about him, too”.

There was an awkward moment in which none of them knew what to say, all standing awkwardly at the kitchen and not looking at each other.

“So, see you guys at the meeting tonight?”, Bossuet dared to break the silence as politely as he could.

“Hm?”, Enjolras hummed confused. Was it Wednesday already?

“Well, today is Wednesday”, Bossuet explained with a frown. “And we already skipped the Monday meeting. I thought –“

“Oh, yes, yes, of course”, Enjolras shook his head, running a hand through his messy curls and shutting his eyes. “Sorry, I forgot it was Wednesday. Yes, we’ll see each other on the meeting tonight”.

“No one will judge you if you want to take the day off, Enjolras”, Combeferre told him, placing a reassuring hand on the leader’s shoulder and pointing him a knowing look. “You must be very tired and stressed with everything that happened last night”.

“No, it’s ok”, Enjolras protested, not quite meeting Combeferre’s eyes. His friends knew that he never skipped meetings unless absolutely necessary, as it had been with Grantaire’s disappearance. There was no reason for him to cancel the meeting, it would only raise eyebrows and suspicion if he did. And the last thing Enjolras needed to deal with on that moment was unwanted questions that he didn’t know the answer to. “I can do it. I’m fine”, he added, giving Combeferre a pleading look that he hoped to transmit everything that he was thinking. Then a sudden realization hit him and he frowned, looking around the kitchen. “Where’s my dog?”

“Jehan took him”, Combeferre explained. “I hope that’s ok with you. He promised to give him back to you by the evening?”

“Oh”, Enjolras replied, feeling guilty at the twinge of jealousy that appeared in his heart.

“Shall we go?”, Combeferre asked him, hands fidgeting with the keys. Enjolras stared at him for a couple of seconds before nodding briefly, still too sleepy to exactly compute what was going on. He waved his goodbye to Joly and Bossuet and followed Combeferre out of their apartment without saying a word. Courf’s car was parked outside, and the trip back to Enjolras’ apartment was as silent as it could be. Combeferre knew not to push Enjolras into talking, and Enjolras was too emerged in thought to have the need to start a conversation with his best friend. He parked by Enjolras’ apartment building and kept his hands on the wheels as he tensely waited for his best friend to do anything.

“I haven’t spoken to Courf”, Combeferre said quietly, because it was something that he needed to tell Enjolras and it was a good way to break the silence. Enjolras, though, barely acknowledged what his friends had just said, tilting his head slightly.

“What?”, Enjolras asked absentmindedly, clearly distracted. He had to come up with a speech to deliver on that night’s meeting, and was too absorted in his own thoughts.

“Back at the hospital, you asked me to explain everything to Courf”, Combeferre explained with a sigh. “But I couldn’t, with everything that happened. He’s been texting me like mad about it, though, and I wanted to make sure if you’re certain about sharing this story with him”.

Enjolras finally turned his head to look at his friend, expression blank. He thought for a few seconds, swallowing dry, before turning his head again to face the street before him.

“I don’t know”, he admitted. “But I don’t think we have much of a choice”.

“Enjolras, this is your life”, Combeferre said patiently. “You get to decide what you tell or not to people”.

“Will he believe me?”, Enjolras sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. “Will anyone?”

“I don’t know”, Combeferre shrugged, wishing he could do more to help his friend.

“Me neither”, Enjolras said. Suddenly, the urge to escape the car and be alone, by himself and left to his thoughts, became too overwhelming. “Look, thanks for the ride”, he sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “But I really need to work on something to say tonight at the meeting. I’ll see you later, alright?”, he grasped the doorhandle and pulled it open, managing to put one leg outside the car before Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder, making Enjolras turn his head to look at him.

“Enjolras”, he said simply. “Don’t overwork yourself, ok?”

“Yeah”, Enjolras said simply.

“We still have 25 days to figure this out”, Combeferre added emphatically. “We can do this”.

This time, Enjolras took longer to respond, but he ended up nodding quietly.

“I hope you’re right”, he said, voice low, before stepping out of the car and closing the door behind him.

It was only hours after being emerged in deep thought inside his apartment that Enjolras realized that he never got to finish the conversation with Joly about Grantaire’s statement.

-

Spending all afternoon working on a speech, Enjolras understandably got late for the ABC meeting. When he arrived at the Musain, nearly all his friends were already there, except for Feuilly, who must have got caught in work, Joly, who had a shift at the hospital, Bahorel and Grantaire. Enjolras threw a general, panting hello to his friends as he walked to the front of the Musain’s back room, organizing the papers on his hands and tying his curls into a bun on the top of his head. Courfeyrac approached him, alongside Combeferre, and the room fell quiet as Enjolras resumed placing the papers on the desk in front of him.

He had been forced to drink three mugs of coffee before inspiration finally knocked him out of his writer’s block, and once he started writing it seemed like he wouldn’t stop. It felt good, for once, to have the words flow so naturally from him and into the paper, and even if he had to spend hours writing and throwing the papers away due to the lack of inspiration, the ending result made him pleased enough with himself. It had taken him the entire afternoon to finish writing, yes, but as long as he didn’t get distracted he would be able to deliver the speech. And since Grantaire was too injured to attend the meeting, there would be nothing to distract Enjolras, would there?

“Good evening”, Enjolras greeted the attendees of the meeting. He was doing his best to keep his voice calm and controlled, to put some passion into it since everyone seemed to be noticing the absence of his fervor. He was feeling tired to the bone after the day of work, but no one seemed to realize that from the way Enjolras stood up straighter and tilted his chin slightly up. “Today I thought we could talk about the growing cases of assault at university campuses at night”, he announced, walking around to the front of the desk and leaning slightly on it. The Amis nodded their heads in agreement, and something inside Enjolras stirred lightly.

That was the magic of his public speaking. No matter how bad he felt, the way the audience responded to his words always improved his mood. Maybe he couldn’t handle socializing with few people at the time, but give him a crowd and Enjolras feels comfortable. He feels complete.

He began delivering his speech, giving space for his friends and the visitors of the group to voice their opinions on the matter and give him suggestions. He asked Courfeyrac to take note of them, for further discussion, and was halfway through delivering the words he spent the entire afternoon writing and rewriting, when the door of the Musain opened and Enjolras, who was the only one in the room with the door on his direct eyesight, raised his head from the paper in his hands to see, in shock, that it had been Grantaire who arrived.

Instant, tangible tension formed in the room, and upon the sight of a broken-nosed, bruised Grantaire who was leaning his weight on mostly one leg, Enjolras found himself asking, more abruptly than he had intended:

“What the hell are you doing here?”

All eyes shifted to face who it was by the door, and from the way Grantaire’s face fell, Enjolras realized with horror what he must have thought of the leader’s words. _Shit_. Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to tell that to Grantaire. He was probably thinking that he was unwanted there, that _Enjolras_ didn’t want him there, and the leader immediately took a step forward in his nervousness, papers clutched tightly in his hands.

“Shouldn’t…”, Enjolras added, desperate to amend what he had just said. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Grantaire eyed him with hesitation, doubt clear in his eyes. He was probably wondering what the hell Enjolras wanted.

“Nah, I’m fine”, he settled for saying, looking somewhat weary. He stepped further into the room, clearly uncomfortable with all the eyes glued to him and trying his best not to limp. Joly had notified all the Amis as soon as they found Grantaire, which meant all of them knew why he was injured and bruised. Grantaire suppressed a groan as he sat down beside Jehan, promptly ignoring the way Bossuet was glaring at him from across the room.

“A-are you sure?”, Enjolras asked, hating himself for stuttering. Now, the members of the group were darting their eyes between Enjolras and Grantaire, noticing how tense their interaction had become.

“Yeah”, Grantaire waved a hand with absentmindedness. “Don’t mind me, you can go back to planning how to change the word, etc”, he added matter-of-factly, signaling for Éponine, who was on waitress duty, to go closer to him.

Enjolras squinted his eyes in disbelief, clearly assuming that Grantaire was going to order a drink, and only realized how long he had been staring at the cynic (who was whispering something at Éponine’s ear, very close to her, _too_ close) when Courfeyrac cleared his throat and nudged at the leader’s leg with one elbow.

“You were saying…?”, Courfeyrac said, raising an eyebrow at Enjolras, who blinked as if to recompose himself and reassumed his straight posture in front of the audience.

“Right, right”, he begun. “Well, as I was saying, it is very alarming that the mayor refuses to increase campus illumination due to the lack of money. We all pay our taxes accordingly, but if the State lacks appropriation, as he claims, then why…”, Enjolras trailed off, eyes unavoidably darting towards Grantaire again, who had passed a hand around Éponine’s waist and had pulled her closer towards him. “Why…”, he tried to continue, but his mind was blank of any thoughts. Éponine smiled wickedly at something Grantaire whispered at her ear, and slipped down to sit at one of his legs, on his _lap_ , for god’s sake, what the hell were they _doing_?

“Enjolras?”, Courfeyrac, who had his back turned to Grantaire, asked, frowning. “Are you alright?”

“Yes”, Enjolras immediately responded through gritted teeth, not tearing his eyes away from Grantaire, who, unaware of Enjolras’ eyes glued to him, kept whispering at Éponine’s ear. She giggled, playfully pushing him away with a disbelieving look. “Anyway”, Enjolras continued, ignoring how _monotone_ his own voice sounded. He forced himself to tear his eyes away from Grantaire’s form, staring at the papers scrunched by his trembling hands instead.

God, why was he reacting like this? Grantaire and Éponine were just friends, right? Everyone told Enjolras that Grantaire had feelings for _him_ , not for Éponine. They were just close friends, that’s all _. Very close_ friends, who sat on each other’s lap during important meetings and disrupted Enjolras’ thoughts. It wasn’t like he was jealous or anything. He just thought that it was very inconsiderate of Éponine to sit at an injured man’s lap when he was still recovering. Grantaire was probably hurting on that position on the chair, what did he think he was doing by calling Éponine over like that? He should be home resting. He shouldn’t be there at the Musain, doing… doing whatever he was doing with that girl.

Fine. Enjolras was jealous.

He felt frustrated. He felt angry. He felt _jealous_. He had spent two sleepless nights worrying about Grantaire, and then he had spent hours to no end of work to make up for the lost time – time he lost because of Grantaire. All he was supposed to do was to deliver that goddamn speech, it wasn’t supposed to be this hard, and most of all, he wasn’t supposed to be this distracted. The truth was that _he_ wanted to be the one sitting on Grantaire’s lap, whispering to him, being close to him. And the fact that Grantaire had chosen Éponine over him made his heart burn. His lips formed a thin, displeased line as he watched the interaction between Grantaire and Éponine, and people started to follow Enjolras’ line of sight out of curiosity as to what was distracting him so much. Noticing that he had been silent for too long, Enjolras cleared his throat to continue speaking.

Except now the thoughts were all scrambled and mixed up, he couldn’t remember what he was saying and had no idea what to say next. He let out a frustrated huff and tried to read his paper, to re-find the line of thought he had been following before Grantaire so abruptly stole all the attention away from Enjolras’ mind.

“So, well”, Enjolras swallowed dry, face flushing from the embarrassment of being speechless and from the jealousy he was still feeling. “The lack of illumination on the campus is one of the major reasons why there is so many cases of violence directed towards women on that specific area, and if our tax money can’t be used to put more lights around the campus, than what is it being used for?”, he said, but his voice lacked half of the passion he had managed to usher into it before. “Can we really just accept these corrupt politicians stealing our money instead of using it to benefit the people they swore to take care of? Can our money be used to pay for their cars, and expensive houses, and private jets but not to attend our simple needs? How much longer will these women – and men, too – suffer from sexual assault on a place that is supposed to educate and protect them? How long will they – oh, _for fuck’s sake_ ”, Enjolras abruptly snapped, throwing his papers against the desk behind him and unable to watch the scene before his eyes any longer.

Éponine had thrown an arm around Grantaire’s neck and had both her legs thrown on the top of Grantaire’s, who had an arm caressing one of the woman’s thighs. They were talking quietly and giggling in a way that could be seen as childish, if it wasn’t for the pose that made them look like they were in a brothel. Grantaire had just placed a sloppy kiss against her collarbone, and her breasts were so close to his face that he could kiss them too, if he wanted. Éponine had just placed a kiss at the corner of Grantaire’s mouth and was biting at Grantaire’s earlobe when Enjolras snapped, and they both looked up in surprise at the leader’s sudden outburst.

Enjolras was staring at them, not bothering to hide the anger from his flushed face anymore, a lot of mixed feeling bubbling up inside his chest. He was angry, mostly because he had spent a lot of effort and time into that speech and now he was simply unable to deliver it as he wanted to because of Grantaire’s unexpected apparition at the Musain, and because of his not-at-all subtle endeavor to court Éponine. He was jealous, because he had undeniably developed feelings for Grantaire, and seeing him that close to another person, holding them and kissing them and making them laugh, made Enjolras’ skin tingle. Grantaire had kissed him, for god’s sake, even if it had been quick and simple and apparently meaningless, it had happened all the same. He had given Enjolras a dog, and taken him home on several occasions, and gone out for lunch with him, even if everything ended up going wrong. There was _something_ clearly going on between them and they both knew it; it was not a relationship, but it was further than friendship, and it hurt Enjolras to see Grantaire discredit their progress like that. And finally, he was frustrated, because he could deal with loud, obnoxious and interrupting Grantaire, he had always dealt with that, but _this_? This was something beyond Enjolras’, this was something he had no idea what to do about or how to behave towards. This was Grantaire having… having… _romantical contact_ with someone else, and seemingly enjoying it, because why else would he be smiling and making jokes and caressing and kissing Éponine? Something ugly twisted inside Enjolras’ guts and he wanted to scream at Grantaire even though he knew it wasn’t his place to. He wasn’t dating Grantaire or anything, and had no right to be jealous, _and yet_. Instead of yelling, Enjolras was glued to his spot, angry expression and closed lips showing how displeased he was about all that. Grantaire merely stared back, interested defiance in his eyes.

Maybe people were wrong. Maybe people thought that Grantaire fancied Enjolras, but he didn’t, maybe he just thought Enjolras was pretty and that was all. Maybe he didn’t love Enjolras as Enjolras thought that he did, or as Enjolras loved him.

But then Éponine smirked wickedly at the jealous blond, and stood up from Grantaire’s lap, straightening her clothes and picking up her tray from the table in front of Grantaire.

“You owe me ten bucks, _stud_ ”, she winked at Grantaire, loud enough for everyone to hear, and then walked away from the room without another word.

“Well, you were saying?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow and smirked. Enjolras was basically fuming.

There was no way he would be able to finish everything he had planned to say on the meeting. His thoughts were too messy and fuzzy, and his heart was too caught up in the middle of mixed, confusing feelings for him to be able to concentrate. So he took a deep breath, glaring deeply at Grantaire, before saying:

“In summary, we need to bring attention to this matter. Of course, our goal here is to raise awareness about the rape culture still alarmingly present in our society, and end it for good, but for now, making the government install better lighting to university campuses and the streets in general is a nice step to make sexual assault more preventable. I have started a petition to send to the mayor asking for better illumination, I will send the links to you tonight. Spread it to as many people as you can, we need as much support as we can get on this. Let’s end the meeting here. Thank you all for coming, and let’s hope that, on the next meeting, _some of us_ can keep more _composed_ and acknowledge the seriousness of what we’re dealing with here instead of _fooling around_. Have a good night”, Enjolras announced, not bothering to meet Grantaire’s eyes, and turning on his back to gather his things by the desk. Courfeyrac gave Enjolras a “oh-no-she-didn’t” look before approaching him, while Combeferre merely took his glasses off and leaned two fingers on the bridge of his nose, looking like an exhausted mother.

“Well that went well”, Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow at Enjolras, sitting on the desk and smiling.

“You think so?”, Enjolras asked absentmindedly, trying to recompose himself as he neatly placed his papers and notebook inside his backpack.

“Yeah”, Courfeyrac shrugged, leaning back on the desk and innocently tilting his head for the side. “If we ignore all the parts in which you forgot what you were saying and stayed in silence for minutes because you were too jealous of Grantaire, I’d say that yes, it went well”.

“Please, don’t make this worse”, Combeferre groaned, covering his face with both hands. Courfeyrac snorted a laugh, and Enjolras turned to look at him, an indignant look in his face.

“I wasn’t jealous of Grantaire!”, he protested, hating the way that he felt the blood rise to his cheeks. “I was just upset that he ignored everything that I was saying”, he added halfheartedly.

“Oh, honey”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “He always ignores everything that you say during meetings, but this never stopped you before”, he leaned closer to Enjolras, evilly smirking at him. “And plus, you’ve already admitted you have feelings for him. C’mon, Enjy, you can’t fool a fooler”.

“And who have you ever fooled?”, Combeferre scoffed, giving Courfeyrac an incredulous look. “You wouldn’t lie to a fly”,

“Oh, shush”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes again. “We all know that you’re the perfect, non-lying one”.

“You’re just saying these for the catchphrase”, it was Combeferre’s turn to roll his eyes. “Like that time last week you said ‘you can’t shit a shitter’. That made absolutely no sense”, Combeferre removed his glasses and begun to clean them using the edge of his shirt. “You’re just trying to be trendy”.

Courfeyrac gasped, putting on an exaggerated shocked expression and taking a hand to his chest dramatically.

“How dare you!”, he exclaimed.

“Well”, Combeferre shrugged, putting his glasses back on methodically, “It’s true”.

“Look, I’m going home”, Enjolras said with a sigh, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. Both his friends stopped the incoming discussion before it could begin and looked up at him. “I’m tired”, Enjolras explained, even though he knew he didn’t have to. “I’ll see you on Friday ok?”

“Ok”, Combeferre nodded. “Text me when you get home”, he added. Enjolras gave him a tiny nod back before turning around to leave the Musain, doing his best to _not look_ at Grantaire. He was having a quiet discussion with Bossuet on the corner of the room, and Enjolras passed straight by them, not bothering to look back and ignoring the way his heart was pounding madly.

He couldn’t deny that he was a bit upset, despite of himself. He had thought Grantaire liked him. He had thought he was going somewhere with this undeniable romantic tension between them.

“Apollo, wait!”, he heard a familiar voice calling him as soon as the Musain front door clicked shut behind him, the sound of the tiny bells on the top of it disappearing and then reappearing again when Grantaire yanked the door open so that he could follow Enjolras. Enjolras wanted to stop and speak to him, but he didn’t trust himself to look the cynic in the eye on that precise moment, not after the previous night at the nightclub, and certainly not after the scene that Enjolras had witnessed with Éponine. “Hey, wait!”, Grantaire insisted, jogging after Enjolras when the former didn’t stop walking down the street. Realizing that Grantaire was probably hurting all over from the blows he had taken, and that jogging after Enjolras only made the pain worse, he slowed down so that Grantaire could catch up with him. Still, he didn’t dare to face him. “Hey”, Grantaire panted, reaching Enjolras and walking side by side with him.

“Hi”, Enjolras answered dryly, even though his heart cried out for him to be receptive towards Grantaire, to not push him away, to not waste the time he had left with him.

“I…”, Grantaire started, sounding hesitant. “I believe you I owe you an apology?”

Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat and he did his best not to let it show on his face.

“Oh?”, he replied, uninterested. “Why so?”

“Ah, mostly for being rude and ungrateful when all you did was help my ass on the nightclub yesterday”, Grantaire shrugged, and Enjolras felt the heat rising to his own face. When Grantaire mentioned an apology, he had been expecting it to be about the Éponine situation, and not about the nightclub. “I can get pretty stubborn when I’m drunk”. _Only when you’re drunk?_ , thought Enjolras with an eyeroll.

“There’s no need to apologize”, Enjolras said with sincerity, though he still sounded stoic. “You needed my help and I gave it to you”.

“Yeah, but Joly said that you were worried as shit, and didn’t sleep, and etc”, Grantaire sighed, sounding resigned. “So yeah. Sorry for inconveniencing you. Plus, Bossuet told me I should apologize”.

“You’re not an inconvenience”, Enjolras protested angrily, sparing Grantaire a single peripheral glance that didn’t meet the cynic’s eyes. “And forget about it. There’s nothing you need to apologize for”, Enjolras added bitterly. Deep down, he wanted an explanation about why Grantaire had been so intimate with Éponine in front of him.

“So we’re good, then?”, Grantaire asked, a tinge of humor in his tone.

“Yes”, Enjolras forced the word out, and despite of his best efforts, it still sounded unnatural. He wasn’t the type of person who was able to hide when he was upset.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”, Grantaire asked, and Enjolras slowly stopped walking, sighing in resignation. He turned to face Grantaire, giving him a nearly cynical look, before turning back on his heels and going back to walking.

“Hey, Apollo”, Grantaire followed him, sounding genuinely upset and reaching for Enjolras’ arm. He held it gently, and Enjolras came to another stop, lowering his head so that his curls would fall above his eyes and hide them from Grantaire’s view. Grantaire, though, as stubborn as he said he was, wasn’t contented. He slowly, gently, raised a hand to brush Enjolras’ hair away, placing the curls behind the leader’s ears with light, habile fingers, and exposing Enjolras’ eyes to his view. But Enjolras still wouldn’t look up to face the cynic, eyes glued to his own feet and face flushing with embarrassment. “Hey”, Grantaire called again, gentler this time. “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras bit his lower lip, looking sulky. Grantaire placed two fingers beneath Enjolras’ chin, tenderly, but didn’t tilt the leader’s head up, waiting for permission. His fingers were calloused and long, but all Enjolras could concentrate on was the proximity of his and Grantaire’s body. If Enjolras looked up, they would be face to face, lips mere inches away from each other.

“Are you mad at me?”, Grantaire asked, tone weird. It sounded like a mixture of humor, disbelief and teasing. Enjolras tightened his jaw.

“Why would I be mad at you?”, he asked sarcastically, voice monotone.

“Because I let Éponine sit on my lap and caress me?”, Grantaire said, and Enjolras could basically _hear_ the eyebrow raise the cynic must have given him. Grantaire’s face lit up when Enjolras didn’t say anything in response, lowering his head further and blushing instead. “Oh”, he exclaimed, sounding delighted. “I see. Was the mighty Apollo _jealous_?”, Grantaire teased, smirking.

Enjolras let out an indignant – and yet embarrassed – huff of breath, turning on his heels to leave again. Grantaire, somehow, managed to pass him and get in front of Enjolras, blocking the passage. He leaned one arm against the wall seductively, and finally, Enjolras could no longer avoid his gaze. He looked up at Grantaire with angry, defiant eyes, ignoring the fact that his face must have been as red as a tomato.

“Oh, c’mon”, Grantaire said, an affectionate smile appearing on his lips. “Admit it. Were you jealous of Éponine?”

“What does it matter?”, Enjolras rolled his eyes, giving in. “There’s clearly something going on between the two of you, and I’m not one to pry in. I have nothing to do with this; this is your life and your decisions. Now, if you’ll excuse me”, he said, faking politeness and trying to avert Grantaire and walk past him. Grantaire, though, was quick for someone sustaining several bruises, and blocked Enjolras’ way once more, placing two hands on the leader’s shoulders.

“Enj”, Grantaire said patiently, affection filling his tone. Enjolras dared to look up and face him once more, albeit still defiant. “There’s nothing going on between Éponine and me”, Grantaire continued, smiling sincerely at Enjolras.

“Oh, yeah?”, Enjolras replied, incredulous. “You may take me for an innocent virgin who doesn’t know better, but I know no one let’s another person to… to… be that… _erotic_ with them, unless there’s something going on”, he attempted to escape again, only half-heartedly.

“Enj”, Grantaire said again, giggling this time. Enjolras tried to hate that stupid smile on Grantaire’s face, but found that he couldn’t. “I paid her to do that”.

“What?”, Enjolras replied, a confused frown immediately appearing on his face. Now that he had met Grantaire’s eyes for good, he could no longer avert his gaze, and could see the precise moment in which Grantaire’s face was filled with embarrassment.

“She’s a close friend”, he shrugged with a smirk. “And I wanted to see if you’d get jealous of me”.

                Enjolras stared at Grantaire for a long, long time, silence becoming tense between them while the information sunk into Enjolras’ brain.

                “You paid someone”, Enjolras stated dumbly, voice monotone. “To rub their bodies against you. To see how I would react”.

                Grantaire’s eyes darted to the sides for a couple seconds before he nodded simply.

                “Yeah, basically”, he shrugged. Enjolras stared back at him, incredulous. It was as if his mind had come to a stop, unable to process that information. It made no sense.

                “Why… would you do this?”, Enjolras asked, genuinely confused.

                “Ah, c’mon now, Enj”, Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I don’t really know what’s going on between the two of us. You grew all warm towards me out of nowhere, and then we kissed, but then I almost killed you, and honestly, I don’t know where this is going. Combeferre told me to stay away from you, but then he begged my forgiveness two days later and I’m honestly confused as fuck. So I wanted to see if you… cared, at all, or if it was just my mind playing tricks on me. Sorry for doing it like this, though”, he shrugged. “It was a dick move”.

                “It was totally a dick move!”, Enjolras exclaimed, slapping a hand against Grantaire’s shoulder in annoyance. The cynic flinched, surprised, and Enjolras nearly pouted in anger. “Do you really think I would have kissed you if I didn’t care about your feelings? Why didn’t you just talk, communicate with me?”

                “Sorry”, Grantaire said, sounding sincere, but he was giggling, which only made Enjolras angrier. “Sorry”, he said again, raising both hands as if to calm Enjolras down. “It’s just you get cute when you’re jealous”.

                “I’m not cute!”, Enjolras protested. God, was this what this whole thing was about? Grantaire not knowing whether Enjolras cared about him or not? _Testing_ him to see if he would be indifferent towards Grantaire? God, if Grantaire had to go that far just to earn a reaction from Enjolras, then Enjolras had been doing everything wrong. And he would have to _show_ to Grantaire just how much he cared. Fuck words. He had to get practical.

                “Ah, yes you are”, Grantaire giggled. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be this mad at me, but you’re all flustered up, pouting and shit. It’s adorable, really. And it makes me think just of how –“

                “Shut up”, Enjolras said, and then he basically threw himself on Grantaire.

                It started as a simple kiss, since Grantaire was taken by surprise and was too shocked to do anything. He merely held Enjolras, whose eyes were shut tightly, frozen to the spot. And then Enjolras parted for breath, panting and staring at Grantaire with an angry look of defiance in his eyes, lips rosy and cheeks red, freckles disappearing beneath the blush.

                And so Grantaire pulled Enjolras closer with one arm, shoving a hand on the curls at the nape of the leader’s neck and kissing him again.

                This time, the kiss lasted longer, and Enjolras’ heart began leaping madly inside his chest. Grantaire seemed to know exactly what to do to stir a reaction from him, tugging gently at the sensitive areas of his scalp and running a gentle thumb on the base of his spine, making goosebumps rise to Enjolras’ skin. It was only when Grantaire’s tongue slipped past his lips to caress Enjolras’ that the leader finally relaxed into Grantaire’s arms, stiffness disappearing from his shoulders as he melted into the man’s embrace.

                Enjolras – who, by the way, had no idea of what he was doing – allowed his lips to part and receive Grantaire’s tongue into his mouth, barely preventing a moan as he did so. The knowledge that they were standing in the middle of the street went forgotten by Enjolras’ brain, who could only focus on the fact that he and Grantaire were kissing, and Grantaire was holding him, and Grantaire was pulling him closer, and Grantaire was pulling his hair, and Grantaire was intertwining their tongues, and Grantaire smelled good, and the spot where his skin and Grantaire’s touched felt like it was buzzing with electricity, and the tension between himself and Grantaire had disappeared completely as they both melted into each other’s grasps, and Grantaire, _Grantaire, **Grantaire**_ **.** Enjolras’ hands didn’t know what to do but couldn’t stay quiet, so they clung to Grantaire as much as they could, holding his hips, his shoulders, his hair and his face. They kissed for what felt like an eternity, even though Enjolras had no precise idea of what to do and just tried to mimic Grantaire. Eventually, they parted for breath, both panting slightly, lips bruised from kissing and faces flushed. Enjolras smiled, whereas Grantaire smirked, and they ended up giggling like stupid on the middle of the empty street.

                “You’re so stupid”, Enjolras said with affection. “You didn’t have to dry hump Éponine to make me show that I care about you”.

                “Turns out I had”, Grantaire winked at Enjolras. And then he straightened himself and winced on the process, trying to hide the hiss that escaped his tongue. Enjolras immediately raised a hand to touch his elbow and support him, worry clear in his face.

                “You should really find healthier hobbies”, Enjolras said disapprovingly, intertwining his arm with Grantaire’s as if to give him some sort of leaning.

                “Oh, I do have a lot of healthy hobbies”, Grantaire said, slowly walking alongside Enjolras. “You just don’t know about them yet. Hey, what are you doing?”, Grantaire frowned when Enjolras turned left instead of right on the street.

                “I’m taking you home, for once”, Enjolras said as if it was an obvious information. “I won’t allow you to go around the street as bruised as you are”.

                “Mother hen”, Grantaire rolled his eyes affectionately.

                “Tell me more about these hobbies of yours”, Enjolras asked, trying to start small talk as they walked to Joly’s – and Grantaire’s – place.

                “Well, actually right now I’m focusing on only one hobby”, Grantaire smiled with embarrassment. “I’m going to have this dancing contest in three weeks and I’m trying to get prepared for it. Training a lot, and stuff. You can pass by to watch me train sometime, if you want”.

                “Is this an actual invitation or another ‘I-don’t-expect-you-to-show-up-so-I’m-inviting-you’ thing?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow, remembering what Jehan had told him when Grantaire was missing.

                “It’s an actual invitation”, Grantaire chuckled.

                “What do you dance?”, Enjolras asked, interested. He was suddenly aware of how easy it felt to make conversation with Grantaire, and to feel comfortable by his side, whereas he would have been awkward and embarrassed were it anyone else he didn’t know quite well.

                “Currently, tango”, Grantaire shrugged. “I tried to win a ballet dancing contest for three years in a row, unsuccessfully. Turns out ballet isn’t my thing, apparently. So this year I’m trying tango. Maybe it will work better, since it’s probably on my blood”.

                “What do you mean?”, Enjolras frowned.

                “Uh… my dad is Argentinian?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Oh”, he added after a couple seconds. “I probably never told you that”.

                “No, you didn’t”, Enjolras responded, once again surprised at how little he knew about Grantaire. The cynic must have noticed the way Enjolras expression faltered, for he squeezed Enjolras’ arm that was intertwined with his gently.

                “It’s ok. I never mentioned it, you never asked. We’ll have plenty of time to get on that”, Grantaire reassured.

                But would they?

                “My mom is Brazilian, by the way”, Grantaire continued, unaware of Enjolras’ epiphany. “But I was born in France, if that’s what you’re wondering about. I don’t usually talk about my family much, because… well”, he trailed off. “What about yours?”

                “Oh”, Enjolras shrugged. “Nothing too interesting. Both my parents are French. My dad was a diplomat. My mom, a lawyer. I’m currently at the position of the family’s disappointment”, he smiled sadly. Enjolras, as Grantaire, didn’t enjoy talking much about the family that only contacted him when a family member died or as an annual reminder of how much Enjolras had let them down with his activism.

                “Same”, Grantaire smirked. “Guess we have that in common, for a change”.

                “We have many things in common”, Enjolras protested, even though he wasn’t sure if that was true.

                “Oh, c’mon”, Grantaire rolled his eyes. “We’re basically opposites. Should I make a list on the things that we absolutely don’t have in common?”

                “Opposites complete each other”, Enjolras shrugged matter-of-factly. “Like the law of complementary colors, or something like that”.

                “D’aww!”, Grantaire squealed. “Now, don’t get all cute on me, Apollo. We’re not even properly dating yet”.

                “We’re not?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire’s playful tone.

                “No”, Grantaire tilted his chin upwards. “Because we’ll only be dating properly after I take you out on a _proper_ date. Preferably, one that doesn’t potentially threaten your life”, he added with a humorless chuckle. “Sorry about that, by the way”.

                “It wasn’t your fault, R”, Enjolras said affectionately, coming to a stop as they reached Grantaire’s apartment building. He turned so that he could face his boyfriend – could he call him that now?? – untangling their arms and taking one of Grantaire’s hands into his. “You know that, right? I don’t blame you”.

                “You should, though”, Grantaire shrugged, not meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “I should have asked you if you had any allergies”.

                “I shouldn’t and I won’t”, Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “It was an accident, and that’s all. It wasn’t your fault and I don’t blame you”.

                Grantaire raised his eyes to meet Enjolras’ and gave the leader a genuine smile.

                “You’re really amazing, you know that?”, Grantaire asked, love so evident in his eyes that Enjolras couldn’t help but to blush.

                “And so are you”, Enjolras replied, getting on his tiptoes to place a tiny kiss on the top of Grantaire’s bruised nose. “Tell me, when do I get to watch you dance tango?”, he asked with a smile.

                “Oh, I was supposed to train tomorrow, but… I don’t suppose I can make it just yet”, he chuckled. Enjolras pouted in worry. “But Sunday. Yeah. Sunday is good”.

                “Ok, then”, Enjolras said, squeezing Grantaire’s hand again. “I’ll be there on Sunday, then”.

                “Cool”, Grantaire replied, pulling Enjolras into another, yet quicker kiss that ended sooner than Enjolras would have liked. “Text me to let me know when you get home?”

                “Sure”, Enjolras said, stealing a peck from Grantaire’s lips and letting go of his hand. “Take care, alright, R?”

                “I will. And, you, mister, be safe”, Grantaire smiled at him.

                “I will”, Enjolras smiled back. A sort of calming peace invaded him, and even if it would only last for little time, Enjolras would rejoice it as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i wanted to feel guilty for this but we all know how much of a jackass R is; he's my son and i love him but c'mon


	8. Chapter 8

 

                Thursday was a completely normal for Enjolras – or, as normal as it could get when there was a clock literally counting down to Grantaire’s death sitting on his nightstand. By the time he woke up, Jehan called him asking if he could come over to return Brownie to his owner, since Enjolras he had rushed out of the Musain on the previous night and Jehan, being as tactful as he was, realized that Grantaire had followed him out and didn’t want to interrupt the two of them in whatever argument they were about to have.

                Jehan arrived just after Enjolras stepped out of the shower, and Brownie wiggled his tail excitedly upon seeing his owner. Enjolras couldn’t help but to smile as he bent down to pick the puppy, who licked the leader’s face with enthusiasm.

                “He’s such a great dog”, Jehan commented, sitting on Enjolras’ couch and beginning to braid his own hair. “You’re so lucky to have him. He didn’t even chew on my furniture at all”.

                “Yes, he’s a good boy”, Enjolras smiled, placing the puppy on the couch before sitting beside Jehan, turning his back to the poet so that he could braid Enjolras’ hair, too. He didn’t have to say a word before Jehan picked his curls and started to gently braid them together.

                “So”, Jehan said with an interested tone. “How did it go with R last night?”

                Even though he had no reason to, Enjolras blushed. He was thankful that he had his back turned to Jehan.

                “It went well”, he commented. “We are good now”.

                “What was there to be good with?”, Jehan frowned, smiling.

                “Well…”, Enjolras trailed off, somewhat embarrassed by the awkwardness of the situation. “He apologized for disappearing and making me worry”.

                “And…?”, Jehan incited, raising a curious eyebrow at the same time a knowing smile appeared on his lips. Enjolras gave him a resigned sigh, there was no way out of this, was there?

                “Well… and for… nearly making out with Éponine in the middle of the meeting?”, Enjolras tried, biting his lower lip and raising an eyebrow tentatively. Jehan merely chuckled.

                “That was it?”, he asked, and there was something about his tone, something that Enjolras couldn’t quite put his finger on. Almost as if he was teasing Enjolras. Almost as if he knew something that Enjolras didn’t.

                “Yes”, Enjolras shrugged, embarrassment filling him. But the funny thing about Jehan was that he was such an easy-going person, beneath all his initial shyness, that it was nearly impossible to be embarrassed around him for too long. This must have been the reason why Enjolras found himself saying, even though he didn’t need to: “We kissed, too”.

                Jehan immediately emitted a tiny squealing sound, clapping his hands together excitedly. Enjolras slightly lowered his head, unable to prevent a small smile from rising to his lips.

                “Ah, I knew it!”, Jehan said with a congratulatory tone. “You two are such sweethearts. I love it”, he went back to braiding Enjolras hair, after giving him a small hug from behind. “Well, apart from all the sulking and pining and obliviousness. But I mostly love it!”, he chuckled again. Enjolras felt the blood rise to his cheeks and only hoped that Jehan didn’t notice that he was blushing again. “I need to get you a hairclip”, Jehan added absentmindedly, standing up from the couch. “There’s no way these curls will tie themselves together. Is it still on your drawer?”

                “Yes”, Enjolras replied absentmindedly, actually thankful that Jehan would be gone and give him a few seconds to recompose himself. Despite of the frequency in which he did so, Enjolras hated blushing.

 Jehan was a nice company, Enjolras couldn’t deny that. Surely, he could get a little bit too romantic at some times, or start to recite poetry out of nowhere and go on for hours until it became either excruciating or background noise, but he was a nice friend. He was always ready to offer comfort, no matter what the situation was, and without ever asking anything in return. The fondness that was blossoming in Enjolras’ chest soon gave place to grief as he remembered how nice Jehan had been to him on the day of Grantaire’s death, right before they got the news. He remembered the poet’s long fingers holding his curls back as Enjolras vomited on the hospital’s toilet, and the way he had hugged him and reassured him that everything would be okay even though he had no way to know that for certain – and even though he had been wrong.

                And then, just like the popping of a gunshot, a sudden thought appeared in Enjolras’ head with enough abruptness to make him jolt to his feet, heart immediately racing in his chest.

                 Jehan was in his bedroom. Jehan was searching for a hairclip in his drawer, which was directly beneath the _countdown clock_ glued to Enjolras’ nightstand. Even though he had no idea what to do, Enjolras jogged to the bedroom, in a faint hope that Jehan hadn’t seen the clock yet and that he would be able to distract him from ever noticing it was there.

                But as soon as he entered the room, Enjolras found the redheaded poet to be sitting, way too stiffly, at the edge of his bed, eyes glued to the clock. In the darkness of the room, which was illuminated only by the scarce light that managed to seep from beneath the window’s closed curtain and the yellowish light coming from the hall, Jehan’s face looked gloomy and covered by shadows, the nearly offending red light of the numbers in the clock reflecting on the poet’s eyes.

                “Jehan”, Enjolras tried to say, but all he could do on that moment was breathe, breathe shakily and shallowly and try to ease his heartbeat down before the organ could climb its way up to Enjolras’ throat and asphyxiate him to death (which felt like it was about to happen any minute now). Hours, days, ages, eras passed before Jehan finally tore his eyes away from the device at Enjolras’ nightstand and finally met the leader’s eyes. Enjolras’ chest tightened as soon as he spotted the tears welling up on Jehan’s eyes, but other than that, the poet’s face looked impassible. There was a clear form of disbelief in his gaze, and he wetted his lips several times with his tongue before speaking, breaths coming out heavily as if he was physically exhausted.

                “Tell me this isn’t true”, Jehan begged him, voice so low that it wouldn’t have been audible were they not inserted in such a silent room. It was barely above a whisper, and Enjolras unconsciously took a hesitant step further into the room, towards his friend.

                What could Enjolras say? Pretend he didn’t know what Jehan was talking about? Offer him a half-assed explanation? Telling him the ugly, hurting truth? What was he supposed to do?

                It felt like breaking into something personal, something that only Enjolras had access to, by telling Jehan the truth. He had told Combeferre because the man was his best, closest friend, and because he had been too nervous about the quick development of events to be able to quite consider the outcome of his revelation. He hadn’t even told Courfeyrac, who was also his best friend; so why should he share that intimate secret with Jehan? And primordially, how could he even know whether Jehan would believe him or not?

                “Tell me”, Jehan continued when Enjolras did nothing else other than stare blankly at him, too overwhelmed by his own thoughts. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Jehan stared up at him with sad, puppy eyes until he finally lowered his head, sniffing quietly and giving Enjolras a cut scoff that made the leader’s chest ache. That was unlike Jehan, to scoff at someone. “You know”, the poet said quietly, getting to his feet but standing by the bed. His eyes were glued to Enjolras’ feet. “Combeferre approached me a few days ago,” he explained, taking his thumb to his mouth and picking at the skin around the nail. Even in the darkness of the room, Enjolras could see how shaky the poet’s hand was. “He asked me if I knew anything about… countdowns, or second chances after one’s departure. At first, I didn’t exactly understand what he wanted from me, since he was very vague and kept saying that he couldn’t give me the details, but now… now… I think I see what he meant”, he shrugged. Enjolras hated this. He hated every bit of it. Jehan had always been nothing but kind and accepting of Enjolras even in all his coldness and flaws, and all Enjolras did in return was make him sad. “It didn’t make any sense, really, but I assumed he was talking about some story or fiction of some kind. You know how imaginative Combeferre can be, right”, he added, raising his eyes to lock his gaze with Enjolras’ again. There were so many emotions in his brown eyes that Enjolras could not compute all of them. There was something like grief, sorrow, betrayal. Anger. Enjolras would have flinched if he hadn’t been frozen by fear and anxiety. All he was on that moment was the frantic beating of his heart, and he wouldn’t have been able to move even if he wanted to.

                “It doesn’t make sense”, Jehan whispered, sounding like he was talking to himself. “It _shouldn’t_. But somehow it does now”.

                A long silence outstretched between them. All Enjolras did was blink dumbly and try to control his breathing. Jehan merely stared back, waiting for a response, any sort of response, from the leader.

                “What do you want me to say?”, Enjolras finally chocked out after an eternity of arguing against himself, of trying to force himself to say something, anything. His voice was constricted and sounded too weak to his own ears. Jehan’s face fell.

                “I don’t know”, he shrugged, taking a step closer to Enjolras. “Tell me what’s going on”. He outstretched a hand, taking Enjolras’ into his. There was a sincerely concerned look in his eyes that made Enjolras’ shoulders grow stiffer. Why couldn’t he just drop it?

                “I can’t”, Enjolras chocked out, aware that those were the wrong words to say. They would only make Jehan more curious.

                “Why?”, Jehan asked, voice silent in the darkness of the room. “I’m your friend, am I not?”

                Ah, great. Now Enjolras was risking his friendship with Jehan; how worse could this situation get? He had no idea how to behave. He didn’t want to tell Jehan, he didn’t want someone else to share his burden, to carry that weight, as much as he wanted his friends to be able to enjoy the rest of their time with Grantaire. He felt terrible, exhausted, and in the need to sleep for eight thousand years.

                He had expected that having Grantaire back would be a great, wonderful thing. He had expected to just hang out with him and get to know him better. But as time passed, everything only got more and more difficult. He had never predicted that his life would get so hard, that he would have to hide so many secrets from the people he loved the most.

                “Enjolras”, Jehan tried again. Enjolras knew that the poet wasn’t one to pressure people into saying things they didn’t want to. He always respected boundaries and privacy. Enjolras had no idea what Combeferre had told him, but it had clearly made Jehan worried. Enjolras could see it in his eyes.

                “I don’t know how it got there”, Enjolras said, purposefully vague. “It just… appeared, one day. I can’t remove it. I’ve tried”.

                “And what is it counting down for?”, Jehan asked, fear evident in his voice.

                “I don’t know”, Enjolras shrugged meekly, and tried to convince himself that he wasn’t feeling bad for saying that. It wasn’t technically a lie, because there was no way he could be actually, empirically sure that the clock was counting down to Grantaire’s death, but it still felt like deceiving Jehan, or misleading him at least. “That’s… that’s why I asked Combeferre to talk to you about it”, Enjolras added, in the hopes that it would make Jehan drop the subject.

                “Is that so?”, Jehan asked, and something about the way he said the words made Enjolras’ heart race further. “So, this has nothing to do with Grantaire?”

                Enjolras immediately drew a harsh intake of breath, cursing himself for it as soon as he exhaled. Now it was clear that the Grantaire subject was on the table, that the countdown somehow had something to do with Grantaire, sweet, loving, obnoxious, loud Grantaire, whom Enjolras loved so much but had no tact around. Jehan’s eyes glistened with something akin to victory, but his expression remained impassible.

                “What about him?”, Enjolras asked, feigning absentmindedness, trying his best to control his voice. Jehan saw right through him.

                “Oh, my god, Enjolras”, Jehan whispered, taking a step back in horror. He let go of Enjolras’ hand, and somehow, that hurt more than it should have. “This is why you’ve been acting differently around him”.

                “I don’t know what you mean”, Enjolras immediately responded, and was actually surprised that he managed not to stutter. He felt like when an atom vibrated too quickly, quickly enough to look still. He felt too nervous to actually be nervous.

                “Oh, c’mon”, Jehan said, but there was no malice in his tone, just a profuse, heart wrenching sadness that made Enjolras feel even worse. “You’ve never been anything other than reluctantly polite to him, and even then, you two were at each other’s throat all the time. And then out of nowhere, you started acting all… fond and gentle, and everyone was really confused about this but no one said anything, because _hey, maybe that was good_ , right?”

                “Jehan –“

                “No, Enjolras”, Jehan interrupted, voice more serious and demanding than Enjolras had ever heard. “This is serious. You know what that clock is counting down for and you will tell me. For once, this isn’t about you”, he sighed. Enjolras merely stared, face as blank from emotion as it could be. Sometimes, Enjolras hated himself for how stoic and uncaring he always looked whenever he was overwhelmed by emotion, which was so terribly paradoxical that made him sick. The more strongly he felt, the more impassive his face looked.

                Years stretched between them, the overwhelming silence of the room making a high pitch appear in Enjolras’ ears. From the way his heart was pumping fast, it was probably impossible for Jehan not to hear the leader’s erratic heartbeat in the silence of his room. But there was no way out of this, and Enjolras knew it. He had been doomed from the moment he allowed Jehan into his bedroom.

                Deep inside, a part of him wanted to be mad at the poet, to snap at him, yell, scream, insult, anything that would send him away from that specific moment in time and release Enjolras from the burden that he didn’t want to give him. But no decent person could ever be purposefully mean to Jehan, ever. It would only make Enjolras feel even guiltier later.

                Plus, none of this was Jehan’s fault. It was Enjolras’.

                “Two weeks ago”, Enjolras started, but his voice was raspy and low and he had to clear his throat before continuing. He swallowed dry, lowering his empty eyes to anywhere but Jehan’s shadowy form. “Two weeks ago, we went to a protest. It’s… it’s funny, because I don’t even remember what it was about anymore”, he shrugged sadly, ignoring the way his heart flipped painfully. It was true. The subject of the protest was forgotten somewhere in the back of his head, and how terribly unlike him was that? He _lived_ for the activism, for the cause, for these protests. They were the most important aspect of his life, and now he barely even remembered what he had been fighting for, what he had gotten Grantaire killed for. All he could remember was the blood, the pained moans, the raspy call of his name before Grantaire passed out beneath him, the wet warmness of Grantaire’s blood seeping through Enjolras’ pants. He had to take a deep breath before he could continue. “Everything went wrong, and the police intervened”, he continued, hands closing into a fist. “Grantaire helped me out of the stage, but as we ran away, a man tried to shoot me. Grantaire knocked me down and took the shot in my place”, there was a small, tense pause. Enjolras couldn’t bear to look up at Jehan and see his reaction. He swallowed dry again. “He died”, Enjolras continued, and couldn’t help but to flinch at Jehan’s horrified gasp. “And two days later, I woke up and he was alive. No one remembered anything about the protest, just… just me. And there was this…”, he gestured vaguely to the offending clock on his nightstand. “This thing, glued there. Counting down. I don’t know what it’s counting down for, but I have a vague suspicion”, Enjolras scoffed, disgusted.

                He couldn’t bear to look up at Jehan, allowing his head to hang low with guilt and embarrassment as the silence between them stretched.

                “Oh, my god”, Jehan finally said, at the point that Enjolras’ neck had begun to grow sore from staying in the same position for too long. “This… this is… _impossible_ ”.

                “I know”, Enjolras immediately refuted, more aggressively than he had intended. “This is why I haven’t told anyone. I know I sound delusional, and that this sounds impossible, and the last thing I need at this point is people trying to patronize me”.

                “Oh, Enjolras”, Jehan said sadly, and took both of Enjolras’ hands into his, slowly untying the fisted fingers and soothing them with his thumbs. He could feel that Jehan was staring at him, but couldn’t muster the courage to look up. “And you’ve been bearing this weight all by yourself?”

                “Combeferre knows”, Enjolras shrugged, breathing heavily. “That’s why I asked him to ask you if you knew anything about this kind of situation. But he’s the only one”.

                Jehan squeezed his hand lightly, but Enjolras could feel that there was something wrong.

                “Enjolras…”, Jehan started, and his tone alone made Enjolras’ pulse rise again. “You have to tell R”.

                The impossibility of that statement sent a mocking scoff to Enjolras’ lips. Jehan didn’t seem to like this response, and lifted a hand to tilt Enjolras’ chin up and force him to meet his eyes.

                “I’m serious, E”, Jehan said, a tiny frown appearing between his eyebrows. “This is his life we’re talking about. He deserves to know”.

                Enjolras was so taken aback by Jehan’s suggestion that he took a step back, letting go of the poet’s hands but not breaking eye contact.

                “What?”, he asked, sounding almost offended and shaking his head. How could Jehan expect that of him? He had been given this second chance to make Grantaire _happy_ , not to ruin the rest of the man’s life by imposing a deadline to it. “Jehan, how could I do that to him? How can I just walk up to him and say that he’s going to die in less than 30 days? He won’t enjoy the time he has left here, he’ll just… stress over it. He’ll probably be even sadder”.

                Jehan merely gaped at him for several seconds, disbelief clearly stamped on his face.

                “You can’t be serious”, Jehan shook his head. “Enjolras, if he really is going to die in 30 days, he _deserves to know_. He should be the one –“

                “ _If_ he really is going to die”, Enjolras interrupted nervously, shaking his head again. “We can’t know for sure what will really happen”. Enjolras hated how he sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that, rather than Jehan.

                “Sometimes I agree with R when he says your optimism blinds you!”, Jehan snapped, opening and closing his mouth several times as if he was too disbelieving to be able to vocalize his thoughts. “This is someone else’s life we’re dealing with, Enjolras. And his life is not yours to do what you want with. He _deserves_ to know that he may be doomed to die, and _he_ deserves to decide what to do with the rest of his time, not you!”, Jehan protested.

                “I’m not deciding anything! I’m just trying to make him happy in the time he has left!”, Enjolras protested back, suddenly feeling angry. Why was Jehan making things even worse? He was supposed to be helpful and supportive, not… _not this_. He wasn’t supposed to make Enjolras feel even worse.

                “Are you really this self-entitled?”, Jehan frowned, shaking his head in disapproval. “Enjolras, you don’t get to decide what’s better for someone”, Jehan said, voice lowering as if he was genuinely concerned about Enjolras’ understanding of that fact.

                “Oh, and you’re one to speak!”, Enjolras snapped, veins flooding with a desperate plea of fight or flight, fight or flight, _fight or flight_ , even though his mind was screaming at him to _shut up, just shut up, you’re going to make everything worse_ – “Always meddling in people’s lives, trying to make everyone feel better with your sweet talk and your fake-caring when we all know you’re just doing it to feel better about yourself!”

                Enjolras’ regretted what he said as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t… he hadn’t meant to do that. He hadn’t meant to hurt Jehan. There was another long silence in which the guilt settled even more heavily in his heart, as he cursed himself for always doing that, always allowing his anger to overcome his rationality and spitting venomous words that he knew that were intended to hurt the most sensitive spots. Grantaire was usually his only victim, his only target and the only one with the ability to actually make Enjolras lose his temper, but again, this whole snappiness with Jehan was due to Grantaire, wasn’t it? Somehow, the cynic was constantly present in his life now, for better and for worse. And Enjolras had no idea how to deal with this. A little number of things were under his control on that moment, making his life feel like it was spiraling down a hopeless abysm of frustration and incapacity. There had been nothing he could have done to save Grantaire back then. There was still nothing he could do to save Grantaire right now. Enjolras, always the man of action who fought and achieved changes, who didn’t hesitate to jump into the mess and to take control, who always succeeded no matter how lost the cause was, was losing now and there was nothing he could do about it. He was slowly sinking into a bottomless puddle of helplessness and the only thing he could do was outstretch his hands to thin air in the faint hope that he’d be able to find a way out. But he knew he wouldn’t. There was nothing he could do to prevent Grantaire from suffering, from dying, and Jehan, who was his only and last hope, not only seemed like he didn’t know how to help, but he actually wanted Enjolras to spoil the time he had been granted by Grantaire’s side by telling him that he was doomed to die ~~for~~ because of Enjolras.

                Oh, god, what had he done? Jehan had always been so kind and accepting towards him, towards everyone, and now there were shiny tears in his eyes and his nose had grown red and blotted and his face was all scrunched up as if he was about to cry. Enjolras took a step forward, regretting what he had just done, but Jehan took a step back in response, away from him, away from his hand, away from Enjolras.

                Was it his curse, to hurt the people that he loved?

                “Jehan, I’m sorry”, Enjolras started, but the rest of the words that he didn’t know how to speak died down in his tongue as Jehan shook his head with vehemence, making two large tears run down his flushed face.

                “I’m going to tell him”, Jehan said, and there was no threat, no malice, no vengeance in his tone. It was a statement simple as any. “If you don’t, I’ll tell him. It’s his life. He deserves to know”.

                “Please, don’t”, Enjolras begged, literally begged, voice growing all shaky and constricted. His stoic façade finally broke, and he couldn’t help but to notice that his face was probably mimicking Jehan’s and scrunching up, too. He hated himself for that, he had always hated showing vulnerability, even to his closest friends. “Don’t”, he whispered, voice constricted, not knowing what else to say.

                “You’re so selfish”, Jehan half-snapped, half-sobbed, cleaning one of his already wet cheeks with the back of his hand and sniffing. “You know that R is going to die in a month, but all you think about is yourself. How _you_ can make him happy, the time _you_ have left with him, the second chance _you_ have been granted. It didn’t even occur to you that maybe, just _maybe_ , other people like me, and Joly, and Bossuet, and everyone, people you don’t even know, love Grantaire as well? That we will all grieve him and miss him as much as you will? That, by telling no one of this, you’re taking away our chance to say goodbye to Grantaire?”, he sniffed. “What is it that makes you think yourself so deserving of Grantaire, when all you ever did was to yell horrible, terrible things at him and make him feel even worse about himself?”

                Enjolras’ heart was breaking, and he couldn’t breathe. It was true. It was all true. He knew that Jehan was right. And he couldn’t move. Just breathe. In. Out. Repeat. In. Out. In. Out. He was no longer a person, but the act of breathing. Breathing, limbs, organs, a system that made everything hurt with every erratic heartbeat. His tongue had become cotton and his heart had become fire.

                “You can’t even say anything”, Jehan chuckled humorlessly, lowering his head. “God. I can’t do this. I’m sorry, but this is too much”.

                And then Jehan passed by Enjolras, not looking at him, never looking at him. Enjolras still couldn’t move, standing like a statue in his own bedroom. He heard the front door click closed but he still didn’t dare to move. He couldn’t.

                He thought about calling Combeferre, asking him to come over and offer him the comfort he was quite aware he didn’t deserve. He thought about running after Jehan and begging him for his forgiveness, for saying those horrible things, for hiding the truth from him and from his friends. He thought about telling Grantaire that he would die and all the possible outcomes for that. And yet instead, he merely stood, face turned to the countdown clock and staring at it almost unblinkingly. He couldn’t know for sure how much time had passed since Jehan left; for all he knew it could have been years of standing, legs stiff and shoulders burning. But no pain matched the one in his heart.

                Eventually, Brownie came strolling into his room, probably tired of doing whatever he had been doing in the living room. He passed by Enjolras without paying any attention to his frozen owner, making his way to his little bed on the floor and lying down on it. Good. Even his own dog was ignoring him now.

                At some point, Enjolras’ legs felt too heavy for him to remain on a standing position and he allowed himself to fall heavily against his bed, eyes still very open. He considered getting some sleep, even though he had no idea what time it was – the clock beside his head wasn’t exactly _helpful_ on that matter – but the dread of having Jehan tell Grantaire the truth was too present and too strong in his chest for him to be able to relax or to get any sleep at all. Once again, he thought about calling Combeferre and asking for any sort of reassuring, but he decided against it. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved exactly what he had on that moment – a dark, empty room. No comfort. No love. No nice, kind words to make him feel better when all he deserved was to feel like a helpless heap of a human being. He had gotten Grantaire killed. He had monopolized his attention. He deserved to feel like shit.

                Since he was getting no sleep after all, he decided to put some effort into doing the single only thing he still seemed to be somewhat decent at. So, pointedly _not checking_ his phone for any sudden angry, demanding text or call from Grantaire, he spent the rest of the day and the whole night working on new speeches and on meeting plans, trying to forget, even if for a while, about the mess that his life had become, and trying not to wonder where Jehan was at on that moment, if he had already spoken to Grantaire and if Grantaire already hated him for life. After all, if Grantaire got to know about the countdown, he would most probably assume that Enjolras’s feelings were just an excuse for his guilt, and be his self-deprecating self as always. He would probably think that Enjolras didn’t like him at all, which was the farthest possible thing from the truth.

                He ended up passing out from exhaustion around midday of the following day, and nearly missed the Friday meeting over dreams of happiness and warmness beside the cynic.

-

                Jehan didn’t attend to the meeting, but Grantaire did, and Enjolras felt guilty for being just a bit relieved. Grantaire didn’t look mad or upset, and in fact, if Enjolras ignored the bruises around his nose bridge and eyes due to his broken nose, he looked perfectly fine, if only a bit pale. Enjolras tried to lead the meeting as normally as he could, despite of the dark bags beneath his eyes and the constant trembling of his hands caused by the excess of caffeine in his system. The phantom of a headache made his temples throb, but he ignored it through the entirety of the meeting. Grantaire threw an obnoxious comment or a disagreeing opinion every now and then through his speech, but even Enjolras realized that the frequency in which he did so decreased considerably. Plus, he didn’t have the energy to argue with Grantaire right then, merely waving his comments off with a shaky hand and a sigh that probably discouraged the cynic to keep arguing. As he finished the meeting, the Musain became less crowded and Grantaire approached Enjolras at the same time Combeferre did.

                “Oh, don’t worry”, Grantaire chuckled, after he and Combeferre stared at each other for a few seconds, as if silently trying to decide who should speak to Enjolras first. “I’ll wait outside. I have something for you”, he winked at Enjolras before turning on his heels and leaving the Musain, grabbing a can of beer on his way out.

                “So”, Combeferre sighed, turning his gaze to Enjolras, who was packing his notebook and annotations. “How are you?”

                “Fine”, Enjolras responded absentmindedly and without looking up at his friend, very aware that he didn’t sound fine at all.

                “Right”, Combeferre rolled his eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept in a while”.

                “I’ve been busy”, Enjolras said in a monotone. He begun fidgeting with the papers in his hands just so that he wouldn’t have to look at Combeferre.

                “With what?”, Combeferre raised an eyebrow.

                “Writing speeches”, Enjolras shrugged, trying to look unaffected. “Planning things. You know, the usual”.

                “So, this whole Grantaire thing has nothing to do with it?”, Combeferre crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the table.

                “Of _course_ it does”, Enjolras scoffed. What was the point of lying about that to Combeferre? “But I’ve mostly been busy, that’s all”.

                “Enj”, Combeferre said, tone sweet and caring. Enjolras hated him for using that tone. He deserved harshness, and yelling, and the cold, hard truth, just like Jehan had given him. He didn’t need sugar coating.

                “What”, Enjolras snapped, allowing his lips to form a thin line.

                “You can count on me”, Combeferre sighed patiently. “You know that, right? I am here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone”.

                “But I have, don’t I”, Enjolras scoffed with a self-deprecating half-smile. “This is on me. I started all this, and therefore I am the one who needs to deal with this. Not you, not Jehan, not Grantaire. Me. Alone”.

                “No”, Combeferre immediately protested, and the paternal tone in his voice made Enjolras scowl. He threw his backpack over his shoulder. “None of this is your fault, Enj, we’ve discussed this. It was Grantaire’s choice –“

                “I don’t want to hear it –“

                “It was his choice, and his alone! It’s not your fault he decided to take a bullet for you. You don’t have to deal with this outcome alone”.

                “Stop trying to shift the blame, Combeferre, we all know very well who is the responsible for this whole situation”, Enjolras scoffed again.

                “I’m not shifting anything, Enjolras. You’re clearly stressed and in the need of help and support”, Combeferre followed him as the leader walked through the Musain, heading for the door.

                “No, I’m not”, Enjolras said over his shoulder. “I told you, I’m fine”.

                “Enjolras, just listen”, Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing the man into a stop. Enjolras didn’t turn around to face his friend. “You can’t do this alone, ok? And I am willing to help you. I’m here for you. And you can count on me, no matter what”.

                Enjolras took a series of deep, shaky breaths before responding.

                “If you really want to help me, then find a way of stopping him from dying”, he said, more dryly than he had intended. “That’s the only way you can help me at all”.

                And before Combeferre could respond, Enjolras shrugged the guide’s hand away from his shoulder and walked out of the café.

                Grantaire was waiting for him as promised, nearly empty can of beer clutched in his hand. He stood up straighter as soon as he saw Enjolras, a tiny smile threatening to bloom in his lips. Enjolras attempted to smile back, but it probably ended up looking forced and unnatural. Grantaire didn’t comment, and begun to walk by Enjolras’ side on the sidewalk.

                “So, how are you feeling?”, Enjolras asked, even though he sounded tired and resigned. He wished he had the energy to sound more interested, knowing that Grantaire, being the way he was, would probably think that from Enjolras’ tone, he didn’t want to have a conversation.

                “Better”, Grantaire shrugged, eyeing Enjolras for a few seconds before finishing his beer with one long gulp and throwing the can away. “Joly has some rad pain killers, thankfully. But I won’t need it for much longer”.

                “Good”, Enjolras smiled, not looking at the cynic. “That’s good”.

                “And you?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

                “I’m fine”, Enjolras lied.

                “Yeah”, Grantaire chuckled.

                “What?”, Enjolras asked halfheartedly.

                “Well, you surely don’t look fine, and you don’t sound fine either, but I suppose there would be no reason for you to tell me what’s bothering you”, Grantaire shrugged.

                “Nothing’s bothering me”, Enjolras quickly responded, cursing himself for the lack of confidence in his voice. He didn’t want Grantaire to have reasons to question him.

                “Okay”, Grantaire shrugged again, a shit-eating grin in his lips.

                “I’m serious”, Enjolras rolled his eyes.

                “And I’m wild”, Grantaire immediately responded. “It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me, though. I understand”.

                “You do?”, Enjolras frowned, turning his head slightly towards the cynic.

                “Yeah. I mean, I’m curious as fuck, but I won’t pressure you”, he said.

                “Oh”, was all Enjolras said. A tense silence fell between them, but Enjolras didn’t know exactly how to break it. He couldn’t tell Grantaire that what was bothering was the fact that he would die in less than a month. But then Jehan’s words echoed across his brain. _I’m going to tell him. If you don’t, I’ll tell him. It’s his life. He deserves to know_.

                He really deserved to know, but Enjolras knew that if he told him, he would lose him. He would lose Grantaire. And he was selfish. He was so, so selfish.

                This wasn’t who he was supposed to be.

                He had run away from home, from his parents, exactly because they thought ill of his altruism, of his need to help and do the best for people. He had struggled with poverty, with homelessness, with low resources for nearly a year, all because he wanted to devote his life for the people, for his country. Enjolras had always put himself in the line of fire, had always put the needs of the many (his friends, his people, his country, his Patria) above the needs of the few (himself, his ego, his will, his heart). That was precisely the reason why his father disinherited him, and why he had to seek shelter and live with Combeferre without paying rent for a year before he found a decent internship at the same time he fought to finish his college education, even without resources to pay for it.

                Maybe that was why Jehan was so upset with him. Enjolras wasn’t Enjolras when he was being selfish, because being Enjolras was the extreme opposite of selfishness. Enjolras was selfless by nature, but he was allowing the trauma of losing a man to whom he had never even paid attention before to change who he was. He could barely recognize himself when he looked at his reflection on the mirror anymore, and that _scared_ him.

                And Jehan was right. This was Grantaire’s life on the stake. Who was Enjolras to dictate what was better for the cynic? Who was he to determine, based on his personal opinions, what would make Grantaire happy and what wouldn’t? How could he allow himself to ever act like that in the first place? Maybe he would lose Grantaire by telling him the truth, but at least he would be setting the man free, right? He would be giving him a choice of what to do with the rest of his life, rather than deciding it for him.

                Adrenaline flooded Enjolras’ system as his mind came to a decision. He would tell Grantaire. He would tell him everything, and Combeferre and Jehan would be able to back him up if necessary, in case Grantaire thought Enjolras to be crazy. He would free him. He would allow Grantaire to be happy, even if it was without him. He deserved to be happy.

                “I have something to tell you”, Enjolras said, at the exact same time Grantaire said: “So, I have something for you”.

                They both stared at each other for several seconds before Grantaire broke into a giggling fit. Apparently, the cynic had also been thinking about a way to break the tense silence as they walked back to Enjolras’ apartment, and ended up doing it at the same time as Enjolras.

                “Go ahead”, Grantaire offered, but Enjolras, taken aback, shook his head.

                “No, you can go first”, Enjolras offered politely.

                “No, really, you –“

                “So you have something for me?”, Enjolras interrupted with a raised eyebrow, trying not to show how nervous he was feeling. He shoved his trembling hands into the pockets of his jacket.

                “Well… Yeah”, Grantaire resigned, searching his pants’ back pockets for something. He handed Enjorlas a crumpled paper, which he opened to reveal the poster design that he had asked Grantaire to do a lifetime ago. Back at the first day of Grantaire’s return.

                If Enjolras had found the first version of the design amazing, it was because he hadn’t seen the finished version. Grantaire was amazing with colors, and the pamphlet was so outstanding that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Every form, silhouette and color fit so perfectly with each other that all possible compliments died down at Enjolras’ tongue, making him merely gape at the paper.

                “Well, I know I took forever to hand it to you and the whole thing has a tinge of sensationalism that I couldn’t get ridden off, but well… I don’t suppose it will get any better, to be honest”, he chuckled, lowering his head. “Sorry”.

                “It’s perfect”, Enjolras whispered, astounded. “Really, R”, he added, looking up at the cynic with sparkling eyes. Grantaire smirked at him. “Thank you for doing this”, Enjolras said with sincerity. Grantaire turned his head, and Enjolras would have described him as embarrassed if he didn’t know the cynic better.

                “I have a digital version of it that I can send to you later”, Grantaire said with a shrug. “You know, in case you want to put on your blog or print more copies and hand out to people and stuff. Don’t count on me for the handing out part, though”, he giggled.

                “I’d appreciate if you could send this to me”, Enjolras smiled, folding the pamphlet and placing it carefully inside his backpack. “Don’t worry about the hand out part. I’m sure that there are lots of people willing to do it”, Enjolras added with a shrug.

                “Good for them”, Grantaire chuckled, but his smile faltered a bit. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

                Enjolras bit his lower lip, trying to look at Grantaire through the corner of his eyes. He could smell Grantaire’s scent from their proximity – beer mixed with the faint tinge of cologne and a warmness that reminded Enjolras of grass and a rainy beach. All the courage that he had mustered to tell Grantaire the truth seemed to have dissipated from his body, giving place to only apprehension and anxiety instead. Grantaire stared at him expectantly, eyes slightly crinkled with worry. Despite the apprehensiveness in his eyes, and despite the bruise on his face, Enjolras had never seen him look happier.

                How could he handle the look of sheer disbelief and disappointment that would inevitably appear in Grantaire’s eyes if he told him the truth on that moment? He would probably think that Enjolras had just been waiting for him to make the posters, to end being useful to him, before telling Grantaire he was going to die. He would probably be hurt and confused and so unbearably sad. Enjolras couldn’t handle that thought. Jehan was right, he was selfish. In the past, before his life went down into a spiral of hurt and lies and secrets, he may have been selfless, but now, after losing Grantaire, Enjolras couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again. And as much as he hated himself for that, he couldn’t tell him about the countdown. He just couldn’t.

                “It was nothing”, he shrugged lamely. Grantaire scoffed.

                “Oh, c’mon Apollo, are you trying to kill me of curiosity?”, Grantaire asked.

                _I’m trying to **not** get you killed_ , Enjolras thought to himself.

                “Just… leave it”, Enjolras shrugged, turning his head slightly away from Grantaire. “It wasn’t a big deal”.

                And then Grantaire outstretched a hand and took Enjolras’ into his, squeezing it slightly. They both came to a halt, a single block away from Enjolras’ apartment building. The warmness of Grantaire’s hand against his was enough to send a shiver across Enjolras’ spine, and he was forced to meet Grantaire’s eyes, seeing the deep concern and curiosity there. He would have to say something, it was inevitable. He had dug his own grave in the moment he opened his mouth.

                “Please, tell me?”, Grantaire asked, and alright, _now_ he would definitely have to say something. Anything. How could he possibly say no to Grantaire?

                Enjolras sighed, lowering his head. Thankfully, he had a quick mind. He had to figure something to say, something that would have some level of importance but wouldn’t be the… the _truth_. He was dying to tell everything to Grantaire, especially after Jehan’s scolding, but found that he couldn’t, he really couldn’t. He didn’t want to see Grantaire unhappy, and that was all that the Truth would do to him, make him sad and frustrated and angry. Enjolras couldn’t stand to see that. No, he wanted Grantaire’s happiness. So, he said the thing that he was ~~almost~~ sure that would make him happy.

                “I… I was…”, he started, hating how he always seemed to be at a loss for words whenever he was near Grantaire. “I was just wondering…”, he sighed, trying to recompose himself. “I was just… _wondering_. Er… Where we are. Um. Where we are going with… this”, he gestured to the empty space between himself and Grantaire.

                Grantaire blinked a few times, clearly surprised.

                “Well”, he said, clearing his throat and sounding hesitant. He squinted his eyes for the shortest of seconds, and Enjolras would have missed this gesture if his eyes hadn’t been glued to Grantaire’s, attentive to whatever reaction the cynic could muster. “Where do you want it to go?”

                “W-what?”, Enjolras asked, blinking rapidly. It took all his self-control not to allow himself to blush. Grantaire chuckled, looking a bit embarrassed himself.

                “It goes wherever you want it to go, Enjolras”, he explained, lowering his head. There was something wrong about his tone. It lacked its previous warmth. “If you want it to be just casual, then it will be just casual”, he shrugged. There was a tinge of self-deprecation in his lips, and Enjolras frowned, not exactly knowing or understanding how the conversation had ended up there.

                “Do _you_ want it to be just casual?”, Enjolras asked, confused, blinking several times. This was definitely not what he had expected. Grantaire wanted things to be just _casual_? Enjolras didn’t quite know why he felt a tinge of disappointment blossoming inside his chest. Grantaire sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, making Enjolras’ heart race. He had expected Grantaire to respond positively to the subject, to be at least cheerful. Apparently, he and Grantaire weren’t on the same page on their relationship, and a sudden wave of horror flooded Enjolras’ heart. He had opened up too much. Oh god. He was rushing things, rushing their relationship into a path that Grantaire didn’t want to follow. Once again, Enjolras doubted the cynic’s feelings for him.

                He hadn’t been prepared for the possibility of Grantaire wanting things to be… casual between them. To Enjolras, they were already on the boyfriend level.

                “What do _you_ want?”, Grantaire asked, tone weird. Enjolras just gaped at him, speechless. What did he want?

                “I… well”, Enjolras swallowed dry, heart racing. “I was… I mean…”, he took a deep breath, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I wasn’t expecting… things… to be just… _casual_ ”, he admitted, unable to prevent a blush from rising to his cheeks this time. Maybe he couldn’t be honest with Grantaire about the whole countdown thing, but he could be honest about this, right? At least he wouldn’t be lying twice.

                “Oh”, Grantaire said simply, blinking dumbly at Enjolras.

                “I…”, Enjolras continued, hesitant, when Grantaire gave him no signs that he would elaborate further. God, how did he manage to get himself into yet another awkward situation with Grantaire? “Well. I was wondering if you wanted things between us to… you know. Be… official?”, Enjolras said, immediately screwing his eyes shut. God, he was so _bad_ at this. He lowered his head, ready for Grantaire to giggle at his awkwardness. But surprisingly, he didn’t, placing one hand at Enjolras’ shoulder instead.

                “Hey”, Grantaire said, patiently. “Don’t hide your face?”, he asked gently. Enjolras tilted his head upwards a bit, but still refused to meet Grantaire’s eyes. “It’s ok”, Grantaire chuckled, but there was no mockery into it, just something akin to astonishment. “I want to be official, too”.

                Enjolras looked up at the cynic, almost shyly. Grantaire was smiling down at him, fondness and affection evident in his eyes.

                “You do?”, Enjolras asked, thousands of mixed emotions appearing inside his chest. Guilt, for not telling Grantaire the truth. Self-loathing, for taking advantage of the situation and applying it to their relationship. Happiness, for taking a step forwards with Grantaire. Relief, for finding out that they hadn’t been on different pages.

                “Yes”, Grantaire smiled softly. “I mean, I have no idea why you would choose to be boyfriends with someone like me, but if you’re up to it then I’m up to it”, he chuckled, and Enjolras gave him a slightly reproving look before hesitantly beginning to walk by his boyfriend’s side once more. Oh, god, his _boyfriend_. “I suppose I’m allowed to call you my boyfriend, now?”, Grantaire asked with a shit-eating smirk.

                “Well, you can call me whatever you want. Except for _Apollo_ ”, Enjolras teased, smirking back at Grantaire despite of the anxiety he was still feeling.

                “Kinky”, Grantaire rose an eyebrow, returning Enjolras’ smirk.

                “Oh, shut up”, Enjolras smiled, playfully shoving Grantaire to the side. Grantaire shoved him back, giggling. They stared at each other, lips parted in half-smiles, all the tenseness between them dissipating in the night air in the form of something that felt like warmth. There was something buzzing between them now, in the place of the tenseness, something that was akin to electricity. Their gazes were locked for a few moments, bodies nearly glued together where they stood on the sidewalk, before they both reached for each other at the same time and pulled each other into a soft kiss. Enjolras’ heart was fluttering inside his chest but he allowed his eyes to slip shut all the same, shaky hands clinging to the front of Grantaire’s shirt. They parted after a few seconds, and Grantaire still had that dumb smile of his and that look in his eyes that showed that he was madly in love with Enjolras. Enjolras smiled, sincerely, dimples appearing on either sides of his rosy cheeks. They giggled, and silently decided to finally resume the walk back to Enjolras’ place, the cynic even daring to reach out and intertwine his fingers with Enjolras’ as they went. Now, the silence between them was no longer unbearable and tense, but comfortable and natural.

                “I’ll see you on Sunday, then? At the tango practice?”, Grantaire asked as they reached the front of Enjolras’ apartment building, smiling softly at the leader. Enjolras nodded, allowing one of his hands to settle at the lower of Grantaire’s back. The cynic raised a finger to push a wayward curl away from Enjolras’ forehead and to the back of his ear, slowly tracing the fingertip across the leader’s flushed skin with affection.

                “I’ll be there”, Enjolras nodded, smiling lightly. Grantaire pulled him into another quick kiss, or rather a peck to the lips, fast enough to make Enjolras dizzy and confused.

                “Alright”, Grantaire said, straightening his jacket against his shoulders and standing up straighter. Enjolras fidgeted with his keys, watching with a tinge of sadness as Grantaire took a step back and away from him, already missing the man’s warmth. In fact, a chill ran across Enjolras’ body as soon as Grantaire stepped away, as if to prove a point. “See you then, _boyfriend_ ”, Grantaire winked, giving Enjolras a crooked smirk and a kiss on the cheek before turning on his heels and walking away.

                “See you”, Enjolras whispered quietly as he watched Grantaire double the corner and disappear, smile slowly faltering and dying in his lips as he stood, alone, in front of the empty hall of his apartment building, feeling too cold all of a sudden.

                As soon as Enjolras entered his apartment, his limbs felt too heavy and his head felt like it was about to explode. Deep down, he knew he ought to do something about his undeniably terrible sleeping habits, but on that moment, all he could do was struggle to put food and water on the pot for Brownie before basically crawling his way to his bedroom and dropping on the bed like deadweight.

                The physical and emotional exhaustion he was feeling finally caught up with him and he allowed his eyes to slip close, faintly acknowledging Brownie licking the fingers of his hand, which was thrown out of the bed. The last thing he noticed before giving into the slumber that his exhaustion brought was the never-ending redness of the countdown’s numbers glowing against his face.

-

                When he woke up on the following day, it was nearly 1 p.m., and he had fifteen missed calls from several different people. He didn’t bother to return any of them as he absentmindedly patted Brownie’s head and stepped into the bathroom. Another thing to add to his long list of guilt.

                He did send a text to Combeferre and Courfeyrac to let them know that he was still alive – it was so uncommon for Enjolras to wake up that late that it was only comprehensible that his friends worried – and promptly ignored Courfeyrac’s stream of texts asking Enjolras to tell him what was going on. Honestly, he loved Courf, but he knew that if he told him, half of Paris would know the story in less than half a week. Not because Courfeyrac wasn’t trustworthy – in fact, Enjolras trusted him with his life – but because the man was physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut when it came to big secrets. He didn’t do it on purpose and Enjolras knew it, but still, he was better safe than sorry.

                There was a single text from Grantaire, which he received around 12 a.m. and ironically read last.

**From: Grantaire (12:15) Hey boyfriend ;-)**

                Enjolras smiled fondly at the text, sitting by his coffee table with a mug already in hands.

**To: Grantaire (13:23) Hey boyfriend (:**

                Enjolras took a sip of his coffee, waiting for Grantaire’s response. It didn’t take too long to arrive.

**From: Grantaire (13:25) Wow, that took a while. Got me wondering if I was overstepping a boundary here lmao**

**To: Grantaire (13:26) What do you mean? I told you, there’s nothing wrong with calling me boyfriend.**

**From: Grantaire (13:26) Oh we’re using commas now are we**

**From: Grantaire (13:27) Lmao just kidding Apollo. How did ya sleep? ;-)**

**To: Grantaire (13:28) Surprisingly well. What about you? (I can stop using the commas if that bothers you)**

**To: Grantaire (13:28) And don’t call me Apollo ): <**

**From: Grantaire (13:29) Ok Apollo ;-)**

**From: Grantaire (13:29) I’m glad you slept well you looked like you needed it ;-)**

**From: Grantaire (13:30) I slept well too ;-) would have slept better w you by my side ;-)**

Enjolras immediately blushed, biting at one of his nails. What did Grantaire mean? Was he speaking with a sexual undertone, or was Enjolras just imagining things? And what was he supposed to _answer_ to that? He had no idea. Thankfully, Grantaire seemed to be able to read his mind and sense his awkwardness, because soon enough another text came in.

**From: Grantaire (13:31) Sorry. Forgot about the boundary. Jk Apollo ;-)**

**To: Grantaire (13:32) Don’t worry, it’s fine (:**

**From: Grantaire (13:33) So what are you up to today?**

**To: Grantaire (13:34) Not much. Need to re-write some posts for the blog and work on some speeches. What about you?**

**From: Grantaire (13:35) Meh not much either. Just chillin with Ferdinand and probably gonna do some painting later**

                Enjolras frowned. Chilling? With Ferdinand? Who was Ferdinand? He didn’t want to ask, and Grantaire had thrown the name so naturally on the conversation that he even felt bad for not recognizing the name. Whoever this Ferdinand person was, they must be very close to Grantaire, since he threw the name so casually as if Enjolras was obliged to know them.

                He frowned, biting his lower lip. This was ridiculous. He shouldn’t be feeling jealous, there was no reason for him to. He trusted Grantaire and they had made their relationship status clear to each other. There was no reason for Enjolras to feel jealousy. Grantaire wasn’t his property. Grantaire was his boyfriend, he had the right to hang out with other people. At 1 in the afternoon. Alone. _Chilling_. It was ok. Absolutely ok.

**To: Grantaire (13:37) Nice**

                He set the phone aside. He knew he was being incredibly childish and there was no rational reason for him to be acting like that. Taking a deep breath, he tried to recompose himself.

**To: Grantaire (13:40) Send me pictures of the pants when you’re done (:**

Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat.

**To: Grantaire (13:40) PAINTINGS*****

**To: Grantaire (13:40) Stupid auto correct ): <**

Enjolras sighed, covering his face with both hands and feeling the hotness rise to his face. He felt pathetic. Being in love was pathetic. What had he become?

                (He wouldn’t exchange Grantaire’s love for anything, though).

                He actually missed Grantaire’s response, because he took too long to reply and even if he had done so quickly, Enjolras didn’t have the guts to check the phone on that moment. He ended up falling asleep again, this time while sitting in an uncomfortable position on his couch, and when he woke up, Brownie was licking his face in a desperate plea to be taken for a walk. His head was throbbing and feeling like cotton, his mouth was dry and he felt like he had been run over by a truck several times on a row. Enjolras grabbed his phone and noticed with surprise that it was nearly 8 p.m. He had literally slept the day away, got none of his work done and didn’t even have lunch. In fact, now that he thought about it, Enjolras couldn’t quite remember the last time he had proper lunch.

                Actually, he could. It had been when Grantaire cooked for him and he had an anaphylactic shock.

                He opened his texting app to see that Grantaire had sent him a picture of his paint-stained pants, followed by two other images of unfinished paintings that looked simply astounding. While he took Brownie out for a walk, Enjolras replied to the texts by apologizing for taking so long to respond and explaining that he had fallen asleep, and complimented Grantaire for being so talented and making an amazing work. Scrolling down further, the leader found that he had received several worried texts from Combeferre, which Enjolras responded with a little more exasperation than he had intended.

When he finally got home after walking the block with Brownie, his stomach protested at the day ~~s~~ spent without proper alimentation and Enjolras gave in and cooked himself a plain, tasteless meal. All he could think about was the time he lost on that day, and on how that meant one less day by Grantaire’s side. He barely even slept on that night, being too alert from sleeping for hours straight and trying to make up for the lost time by posting three simultaneous updates on the blog and finishing four different speeches before his brain finally gave up on being creative and he fell asleep again, spread out on his couch.

                The only reason for Enjolras to get up on the following morning was that he was feeling incredibly thirsty and Brownie had to go for another walk. Every ounce of his being wanted him to remain in a lying down position, but when he checked his phone, he saw that Grantaire had texted him the address of the dancing studio in which he would be practicing tango.

                God. It was Sunday already. Enjolras missed an entire day of work. At least he had gotten some speeches done on the previous night.

                The beginning of Enjolras’ Sunday was a blur, for he was too sleepy to be able to think properly and even being reckless as he was, he knew that drinking a fourth mug of coffee would do him no good. Grantaire’s practice would only be at 3 p.m., which meant he would have a few to sort out the few aspects that he could of the mess that his life had become.

                He thought about calling Jehan and talking to him about their discussion, but Enjolras had no idea how the poet would react and how that would affect his behavior when he saw Grantaire later. Enjolras hated this feeling of helplessness that had suddenly taken over his life; whenever he felt helpless before, he would try and do his best to solve the situation, no matter how. Whether it was a fight with a friend or a government issue, Enjolras wasn’t one to stay idle and wait for things to solve themselves.

                But now, what could he do? Grantaire was doomed to be taken away from him by the same mysterious force that had granted him back, Jehan hated his guts and wasn’t talking to him, and Enjolras couldn’t even manage something as simple as concentrating on a paper for more than five minutes. He had never felt more unlike himself in his life, and that made him sick.

                Well, at least he had Grantaire for the time being, right? They were on a relationship. They loved each other, even if they hadn’t vocalized that yet. He still had a slight chance of making things better.

                He gave up on trying to be productive on that afternoon and decided to go take a shower and get ready, even though it was still noon.

                When he stepped out of his fuming bathroom, he picked his phone only to see several frantic texts from Courfeyrac, still trying to get him to talk about what was going on in his life. Enjolras sighed, feeling his heart tighten. He hated lying, especially to somebody as close to him as Courfeyrac. But he couldn’t tell him the truth, not yet, not ever. He ignored the text and set the phone aside.

                Enjolras ended up putting on some jeans that were probably too tight for him, but that matched the shirt that he picked up. He noticed absentmindedly that Grantaire’s hoodie was still with him, sitting carefully folded at the corner of his working desk. Maybe Grantaire would like to see him wearing it? He hadn’t seemed to mind that before. Enjolras grabbed the green hoodie and put it on, smiling softly at the scent that filled his nose. Grantaire was so often seen with that hoodie that the thing smelled exactly like him, just as intensely. Enjolras figured he should return it to Grantaire, otherwise the smell would wear off and the fabric would end up smelling all Enjolras-y, but the thought of giving up the comfortable, cozy hoodie made the leader pull the green fabric closer to his body as he wore it.

                He ordered some take-out food from a nearby restaurant and ate lunch absentmindedly while watching the news. He cursed himself for spending so much time without even grabbing a newspaper; he missed a lot during the past week of distraction and apparently, there was a new unfair law being voted on the senate. He would have to reschedule his whole planning for the Monday meeting in order to approach that law subject, which mean he’d have to work even harder because it was Sunday already and he had little time. He worked on a few alterations in the schedule until it was 2:30, and set the papers aside when he figured that he should get going in order to get to Grantaire’s practice in time.

                When Enjolras got to the studio, people were already sitting in a mirrored room, watching a pair of people dancing. Only after sitting down on the back row of chairs and looking around the room for Grantaire, was when Enjolras realized that his _boyfriend_ was the one dancing.

                Enjolras tried his best not to gape at the fluidity of Grantaire’s movements. His limbs looked light and floating, as if he was born to do that dance, to move that way. He hadn’t noticed Enjolras’ arrival yet, too concentrated on the memorized choreography to properly look around the room. He clapped his hands up in the air, setting his foot against the floor with strength before allowing it to slip slowly to the side, and then a man appeared beside him, hands on Grantaire’s waist, sliding down to the floor in front of the cynic in what looked like a pleading, hands holding Grantaire’s hips, too close to his lower back, too glued to his skin, and Enjolras caught himself frowning as he realized that that was Grantaire’s dancing partner, because after all, he couldn’t quite dance tango alone, could he.

                Huh.

                The man got to his feet and Grantaire pulled him closer to himself, hand splayed on the man’s lower back. Their hands joined and Grantaire’s legs appeared to have come to life, moving in rhythm with the music as he stared deep into the man’s eyes, holding him and guiding him and shoving him to the side without letting go of his hand, only to pull him back closer to him, faces mere inches away from each other.

                Enjolras wasn’t jealous, of course he wasn’t. This was what Grantaire did. He danced. And to dance he needed a dancing partner. An attractive, male, blond dancing partner, that had his hand splayed against Grantaire’s chest and lower back as they danced in near perfect synchrony, bodies glued to each other’s, noses nearly touching. Enjolras bit his lower lip, still frowning. He shouldn’t be feeling jealous. He shouldn’t. It was childish of him. He trusted Grantaire. There was no reason to be jealous. No reason at all. Their relationship was too recent for him to feel something as strong as _jealousy_. He had no right to feel that way. He wasn’t jealous anymore, simple as that. He stopped feeling jealous. Nope. Not jealous.

                The man buried his face against Grantaire’s neck and breathed in deeply, once again sliding down to the floor without taking his grabby hands out of his Grantaire, head leaning against Grantaire’s hip bone as the music came to an end. Loud clapping erupted in the room, and Enjolras forced himself to clap too, albeit more slowly and half-heartedly than the other people there. Grantaire finally spotted him, sitting on the back, and smiled excitedly at Enjolras, who barely bothered to try and pretend that he wasn’t upset.

                That was the thing about Enjolras. Whenever he felt things too strongly, his face built a cold, stoic façade that didn’t allow any emotion to seep through. But Enjolras had never been able to hide when he was upset with something, and this was one of these moments where he wouldn’t be able to pretend he was content with the situation, not even if he wanted to.

                “See you in a bit, Fred”, Grantaire told his dancing partner, who had already gotten to his feet and was standing beside the cynic, before walking his way over to where Enjolras was sitting. Something inside Enjolras’ head clicked.

  _Fred_.

                Grantaire had said he was _chilling with Ferdinand_ on the previous day.

                He squinted his eyes and unconsciously flared his nostrils as Grantaire approached him, not even caring about the hotness that rose to his ears when the cynic frowned at him.

                “Hey”, Grantaire greeted with a confused smile. “You okay?”

                Enjolras stared at him for a long moment, taking in the glistening of sweat on his brow and the fading – but still present – bruise on the bridge of his nose and around his eyes. Grantaire was panting from the exhaustion that dancing brought, clothes glued to his skin and curls falling above his eyes.

                “Yes”, Enjolras answered dryly, not smiling back at his boyfriend. Grantaire’s frown deepened and he sat on the empty chair beside Enjolras.

                “Enj?”, he asked, worry clear in his tone. A twinge of guilt appeared inside Enjolras’ heart. God, what was he doing? He was being selfish again, selfish like he shouldn’t be. This whole thing was about making Grantaire comfortable and happy, and if this Ferdinand person was the path to Grantaire’s happiness, then Enjolras would do the right thing and stay out of their way. He only wished Grantaire hadn’t lied to him about wanting to be boyfriends, and fooled him like that. He lowered his head, allowing his expression to shift from a scowl to neutrality.

                “Yeah, I’m fine, sorry”, Enjolras mumbled, biting his lower lip. He looked up at Grantaire to see him giving him a worried look. “You dance really well”.

                Grantaire’s face relaxed a bit and he allowed himself to give Enjolras a half-hearted smile.

                “Thanks”, Grantaire said, never taking his eyes off Enjolras. “I try. I don’t think I’ll be able to win the competition, though”, he scoffed.

                “Why not?”, Enjolras frowned. Of course Grantaire could win! If during a training session he was that amazing, Enjolras could only imagine what he would be like while doing a professional presentation.

                “Ah, I don’t know”, Grantaire shrugged, looking around as if he didn’t want to be overheard by anyone. Someone put on the music again and another pair begun to dance, making Grantaire lean forwards on his chair so that Enjolras could hear him. “I don’t think I’ve found the right partner yet. Fred’s good, but he’s not… great. And I don’t seem to be in sync with anyone here, to be honest”.

                Enjolras didn’t look at Grantaire, merely emitting a low humming sound on the back of his throat and leaning back against his seat. He stared straight ahead at the new pair dancing, not paying attention to anything they were doing.

                “Are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you?”, Grantaire tried, smiling encouragingly to Enjolras, who remained silently watching the dancing pair as an excuse not to look at Grantaire. He was too embarrassed to admit he was jealous, and deep down he knew it was irrational to feel that way. So, he merely bit his lower lip and kept his mouth shut, crossing his arms above his chest.

                “Nothing’s bothering me”, Enjolras said reluctantly when he realized that Grantaire wouldn’t quit staring at his face. He spared the cynic a quick glance through the corner of his eyes, only to find he was smiling widely at Enjolras. He frowned, confused, turning his head to face Grantaire. “What?”, he asked, barely managing to keep the indignant tone out of his voice.

                “Whenever you’re mad at me, you avoid looking at my face and you get all pouty and cute”, Grantaire shrugged, smiling as if Enjolras’ behavior was the best thing he’d seen all day.

                “I’m not _pouty_ ”, Enjolras protested, putting on his scowling face again. Grantaire giggled, which only made him angrier. “I’m not!”, he protested again.

                “There it is!”, Grantaire raised his eyebrows, smile never faltering, pointing at Enjolras’ lips. “There’s the little pout right there”, he said, and Enjolras turned his head again, tightening his arms around his chest. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or will you make me guess?”

                Enjolras remained silent, idly staring back at the dancing pair. He didn’t know what he was possibly meant to tell Grantaire.

                “Well, based on empiric experience, I assume you’re jealous of Fred”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin appearing on his lips when redness rose to Enjolras’ face. “Gotcha”, Grantaire cheered victoriously, placing a hand on the top of Enjolras’ knee. Enjolras didn’t dare to look at him, turning his face completely away from Grantaire instead. God, this was so humiliating. He felt pathetic, vulnerable and wrong. He wasn’t supposed to _be jealous_ , it made no sense. Grantaire wasn’t his.

                “Enj, look at me?”, Grantaire asked softly, hand on Enjolras’ knee squeezing gently as if to reassure him.

                “No”, Enjolras protested without turning his head, aware of how childish he sounded.

                “No?”, Grantaire asked, curious.

                “I know there’s no reason for me to be jealous”, Enjolras forced the words out, still not looking at Grantaire. “I _know_ that. And I trust you. I shouldn’t be reacting like this”, he admitted.

                “It’s ok”, Grantaire reassured him, gently unfolding Enjolras’ arms with a softness that opposed the roughness of his fingers and taking one of Enjolras’ stiff hands into his. “It really is. It doesn’t bother me that you’re jealous. Please look at me?”, Grantaire asked again.

                Enjolras gave in and slowly turned his head towards Grantaire, eyes glued to his own lap instead of meeting the cynic’s. Grantaire sighed and raised a hand to slowly touch Enjolras’ chin. He slowly approached Enjolras, almost as if silently asking for permission. Enjolras blinked, still not looking up at him, and Grantaire slowly glued their lips together, pulling Enjolras into a quick kiss that made the leader’s eyes flutter close and his stiff shoulders relax. When Grantaire broke the kiss, Enjolras opened his eyes, staring up at his boyfriend and only hoping that he couldn’t see the embarrassment clear in Enjolras’ gaze.

                “It’s ok”, Grantaire repeated. “If something’s bothering you, you have to tell me”, he encouraged with a small smile, and Enjolras’ heart leaped. If only he could tell Grantaire about everything that bothered him. If only Grantaire knew of the burdens Enjolras bared. “Ok?”

                “Ok”, Enjolras sighed, squeezing Grantaire’s hand that was still holding his. It was only half a lie. Grantaire smiled widely, unaware.

                “Plus, I’d never cheat on you. You know that, right?”, he asked more seriously. “If we agreed we’re serious about this, then we’re serious about this”.

                “I know, R”, Enjolras said. “It’s just…”, he hesitated. “I trust you. But I just… I know it makes no sense, but I saw his hands all over you, and how close you were, and you even said you hung out with him yesterday, and I just lost my rea–“

                “Wait, what?”, Grantaire interrupted with a frown. “Hung out with him? When did I say that?”, he smiled with confusion. Enjolras rolled his eyes, trying to cover his embarrassment with feigned annoyance.

                “You said that you were chilling with Ferdinand yesterday”, Enjolras accused, not bothering to hide his jealousy anymore. Grantaire gaped at him, eyebrows raised and a smile appearing on his lips on the exact second he threw his head back, letting out a loud, roaring laugh that called the attention of everyone else in the dancing studio. Enjolras’ face grew redder and he tried to sink in his seat, embarrassed with all the attention that they were receiving.

                Grantaire laughed loudly for a few more seconds before wiping his eyes absentmindedly, shoulders shaking from the silent laughs he begun to emit. Enjolras raised an annoyed eyebrow.

                “You done?”, he asked when Grantaire finally calmed down, passing an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders. Grantaire’s smile didn’t falter.

                “Enjolras”, Grantaire said with an obnoxious laughing tone that sent another scowl to Enjolras’ lips. “Ferdinand”, he took in a deep breath as if he was about to deliver the best news of Enjolras’ life. “Is my cat”.

                Enjolras blinked dumbly at Grantaire for a few moments, unable to process that information he had just received.

                “Your cat”, Enjolras said, face completely stoic. Grantaire smiled and nodded, biting his lower lip as if he was trying not to burst into laughter again.

                “My cat”, he said, voice clearly constricted.

                “I was jealous of a cat”, Enjolras stated matter-of-factly, not wanting to believe that. He had managed to make an even bigger fool of himself. Grantaire would never let him live that down.

                “You were”, Grantaire nodded, still looking as if he was about to burst into laughter any moment now. “Don’t feel bad, though”, Grantaire continued, “I find it cute”.

                “Your cat”, Enjolras leaned forward, hiding his blushing face beneath his hands. “Oh my god”.

                “Hey, don’t hide again”, Grantaire said, rubbing a hand across Enjolras’ back. “You’re too beautiful to deprive the world of your face”, he teased.

                “I feel so stupid”, Enjolras admitted, even though he hadn’t meant to. His voice was muffled by his hands.

                “Don’t”, Grantaire said with affection. “I said, it’s fine”, he squeezed Enjolras’ hand. The leader merely groaned in return.

                And then suddenly, Grantaire sat up straighter on the chair beside Enjolras, alert. Even though his face was covered, Enjolras noticed the change in Grantaire’s posture and tentatively uncovered one of his eyes so that he could look up at his boyfriend, who was smiling maniacally at Enjolras.

                “What?”, Enjolras asked, concerned.

                “You!”, Grantaire exclaimed, as if it was obvious. Enjolras frowned, mimicking Grantaire and sitting up straighter himself. “You!”, Grantaire repeated more emphatically, as if trying to make Enjolras guess the answer.

                “Me?”, Enjolras asked, hesitant and confused.

                “Yes!”, Grantaire said, looking like a child who found out that Christmas would arrive earlier. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want, but honestly I think it’d be great!”

                “I don’t follow”, Enjolras frowned, not having a clue of what Grantaire was talking about.

                “You can be my dancing partner!”, Grantaire explained, gesturing to the empty space between himself and Enjolras, who stared blankly at his boyfriend.

                “You… already have a dancing partner”, Enjolras said in a monotone. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

                “Yes, but Fred won’t mind switching, I wasn’t his first choice anyways”, Grantaire shrugged. “And you don’t like the idea of me dancing with him anyway, do you?”, he raised an eyebrow, and Enjolras bit his lower lip. It was true. As much as he would do nothing to stop it, since it wasn’t his place, Enjolras hated the idea of having to watch Grantaire rub himself against another person. “You could dance with me”, Grantaire offered, smiling excited.

                “But R, I don’t know how to dance”, Enjolras said, frowning. “ _Anything_. Let alone tango”.

                “So what? Neither did I, until a month ago”, Grantaire shrugged. “I can teach you”, he offered as if the possibility was undeniable. Enjolras bit his lower lip, hesitating. Dancing? This wasn’t really his area. He faintly remembered Grantaire trying to teach him some moves when they were drunk at Montparnasse’s party, but that had been a completely different situation. Grantaire was asking him to learn a completely different kind of dance, which Enjolras had never tried before, and to perform in front of judges and people and an entire audience. Give Enjolras a crowd to deliver a speech to and he will do so without breaking a sweat. But to dance, in front of dozens of people he didn’t even know? He wasn’t quite sure he would be able to do that.

                Grantaire certainly misinterpreted his hesitation, for his smile faltered and all of a sudden, his entire face fell, even though he didn’t seem aware of that. Enjolras’ heart leaped.

                “R…”, Enjolras started, but Grantaire raised a hand.

                “No, it’s fine. I get it”, Grantaire said, with no malice in his voice, only something akin to resignation. Enjolras could feel his face falling too. “You don’t have to do this, Enj. It was just a suggestion. Forget I ever mentioned it, ok?”, he smiled as if trying to look reassuring, but ended up looking sad instead. “I understand this is too forward”.

                “R, no”, Enjolras took his hand into his, squeezing. “I just don’t want to ruin your presentation by being a crappy dancer. You deserve to win, you’ve been working hard for this”.

                Grantaire scoffed, shaking his head with a humorless smile on his lips.

                “Nah. I don’t even know why I keep trying those things”, he shrugged. “I’m not a very good dancer. I guess I just do it for kicks”.

                “You’re amazing”, Enjolras protested, shaking his head. “And you deserve to win. You said yourself you’ve been training for years for ballet, and just now decided to do tango. I don’t want to ruin your progress by showing my awful dancing skills beside you”.

                “I wouldn’t mind”, Grantaire shrugged, avoiding to meet Enjolras’ eyes. “As long as you were by my side. But really, Apollo, don’t feel obliged to do anything. It’s ok to say no”.

                Enjolras bit his lower lip. This was a terrible idea and he would probably regret it later, but seeing Grantaire’s face fall into a frustrated expression like that broke his heart. He wanted Grantaire to be happy.

                “I’ll do it”, Enjolras found himself saying without putting a second thought into it.

                “What?”, Grantaire frowned, clearly confused.

                “I’ll be your dancing partner”, Enjolras explained, allowing a smile to appear on his lips as he squeezed Grantaire’s hand.

                “Enjolras, you don’t have to –“

                “I know I don’t”, Enjolras interrupted. “But I want to”. Grantaire gave him a questioning look and Enjolras smiled once more.

                “You didn’t sound so sure like, ten seconds ago”, Grantaire frowned, sounding suspicious. “You really don’t have to do this, Enj, it’s ok, I won’t be upset”.

                “Don’t you want me to dance with you?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He could certainly learn a few things, he was a quick learner. And that would be the perfect excuse to spend more time with Grantaire.

                “Well, I do, but I don’t want you to do it just because you feel like you need to”, Grantaire shrugged.

                “I’m not. I want to do this”, Enjolras reassured him. “I promise”, he added emphatically, intertwining his pinky finger with Grantaire’s. A beaming smile appeared on Grantaire’s face, sending tiny crinkles to the corner of his eyes.

                “Are you serious?”, he asked, sounding like he could barely contain his excitement.

                “Yes”, Enjolras smiled, and Grantaire immediately pulled him into a backbreaking hug. Enjolras hugged him back, fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

                “Oh man, that’s great. Honestly. I bet you’ll look hot as fuck on that red shirt”, he said, immediately stopping himself. “Sorry. I keep forgetting where to stop talking”, he sighed.

                “Hey”, Enjolras poked Grantaire’s face with his nose to make him look up. “I told you I don’t mind”, he planted a kiss against the point where Grantaire’s neck and shoulder joined. “Forget about boundaries”, he whispered on Grantaire’s ear, and could feel the cynic shudder beneath his touch. Grantaire wasted no time and grabbed hold of Enjolras’ curls, pulling the leader into a breathtaking kiss. Tongues intertwined with each other and hands clung to each other’s clothes. Enjolras could feel the heat settling on the bottom of his stomach, and before he could become aroused in the middle of a crowded dancing studio, he gently pushed Grantaire away so that they could break the kiss.

                “So, when do I start?”, Enjolras asked teasingly, licking his lower lip. Grantaire stared back at him with the same dumbfounded look he always gave Enjolras right after they kissed, as if he still couldn’t quite believe that the situation was real. He blinked dumbly for a few seconds before smiling and sighing.

                “I don’t know”, he said, raising and lowering his eyebrows. “What do you think of now?”

                “Now?”, Enjolras asked, stomach dropping. He didn’t want to learn how to dance in front of all these people. He had no idea how to dance tango, and he was surrounded by professional dancers. Enjolras hated not knowing things, he wouldn’t be able to bear the humiliation of dancing in front of people he didn’t even know.

                “Well”, Grantaire hesitated, looking around and probably finding the source of Enjolras’ discomfort. “It doesn’t have to be here. We can go to my art studio, if you want”, he offered. “But you have to promise you won’t laugh at my paintings, though”, he teased, pecking at Enjolras’ cheek.

                “I would never!”, Enjolras protested. “I love your art”, he added, missing the way Grantaire’s eyes widened for the fraction of a second and his cheeks gained a bit of color.

                “Oh”, Grantaire said, throwing his hair back with one hand. “Well, if you’re up to it, we can go now”, he shrugged, suggestively.

                “Alright”, Enjolras nodded in agreement. “Won’t your friends be mad at you for leaving, though?”, he frowned.

                “Nah”, Grantaire smirked, getting up from his chair and straightening his clothes. “I’ll just tell Fred that he’s free to go dance with his previous partner and we’ll get going. He’ll probably be relieved”, he winked at Enjolras, quickly darting towards where Fred was still standing, watching the next dancing pair. Enjolras watched as Grantaire whispered something in Fred’s ear, earning a confused frown from the man which was followed by a surprised smile. Fred looked at where Enjolras was sitting, before pointing Grantaire with a disbelieving look that made a wave of anger appear on the bottom of Enjolras’ stomach. What, this Fred guy didn’t think that Grantaire was good enough to be with Enjolras? Enjolras got to his feet, hands tightening into fists, as he walked over to Grantaire and stood beside him at the exact same time Fred asked:

                “Really? T _hat_ guy’s your boyfriend? Ain’t that way out of your league?” , he frowned, a surprised smile in his lips.

                “No, it isn’t”, Enjolras responded, not even bothering to look at Grantaire’s face to know that it had dropped with the man’s malicious comment. Enjolras was tired of hearing people call Grantaire ugly. This wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but he knew how hard those apparently harmless comments hit Grantaire. He wasn’t ugly, not for Enjolras. And even if he was, there would be nothing wrong with that. “I’m his boyfriend”, Enjolras told Fred, looking at him straight in the eye as if defying him to second guess him.

                “Wow. Well done”, Fred told Grantaire, raising an eyebrow. Enjolras passed a hand around Grantaire’s waist and subtly pulled him closer to himself.

                “Anyway, we’re leaving now”, Grantaire told Fred with an awkward expression. “See you around?”

                “Yeah, see ya”, Fred told Grantaire absentmindedly, still looking at Enjolras up and down as if checking him out and trying to figure out why he was with Grantaire. Enjolras gave him a scornful look and just as Grantaire turned on his heels to leave, Enjolras pulled the cynic into a quick, albeit strong kiss. Fred wolf-whistled behind them, and Enjolras gave him an annoyed eyeroll before grabbing Grantaire’s hand and following him out of the studio.

                “What was that about?”, Grantaire asked as soon as they stepped out of the dancing studio, smiling nervously. Enjolras tilted his chin up defiantly.       

                “I wasn’t letting him talk to you like that”, Enjolras said, walking side by side with Grantaire, who scoffed at Enjolras’ response. “What?”

                “It’s fine, Enjolras”, Grantaire said, face serious. “I’m used to it”.

                “But you shouldn’t be”, Enjolras protested, angry. Grantaire really shouldn’t.

                “Well, what can I do”, Grantaire shrugged with a self-deprecating smile.

                “He’s a jerk”, Enjolras said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you were going to _dance_ with him”, he couldn’t even feel embarrassed from talking that freely.

                “Well, I got myself a much better dancing partner now, didn’t I”, Grantaire teased, placing a sloppy kiss on Enjolras’ cheek. The leader smile.

                “I still need a bit of teaching, I suppose”, Enjolras teased back, squeezing Grantaire’s hand.

                “Don’t worry”, Grantaire smirked, leading Enjolras up the stairs of his art studio’s building. “I’ve been told by reliable sources that I’m a very good teacher”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry not sorry


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has spoilers to the movie Moulin Rouge!.

As soon as Enjolras went through the door of Grantaire’s art studio, he couldn’t bring himself to shut his lips.

                It wasn’t a very big studio, that was for sure, but there were so many canvases with so many breath-takingly beautiful paintings splattered across them that the last thing on Enjolras’ mind was the available space for the tango practice. All he could think about was of how talented Grantaire was, and how it was anywhere near possible for a person to be able to work colors like he did. Some of the canvases were covered, bringing out Enjolras’ curiosity, but his senses were overloaded by the amount of new information he had access to and it was difficult to focus on all the paintings at the same time. Therefore, he decided to analyze one by one.

                The portrait closest to the door showed a woman that seemed to be the exact mixture between Éponine and Musichetta, intense brown eyes staring at Enjolras with the correct amount of scolding Éponine would give him and, at the same time, the interested warmness and curiosity he always found on Musichetta’s gaze. He unconsciously outstretched his hand to touch the canvas, as if trying to make sure that that was really a painting and not some sort of printed photograph, digitally manipulated, but he knew that Grantaire wouldn’t bother putting effort into doing something like that. He had actually painted that portrait, with his own hands, and now that Enjolras looked closer, he could see that the Éponine-Musichetta woman was wearing period clothes that probably dated back to the 19th century. Without noticing the look Grantaire was giving him, Enjolras moved on to the next canvas.

                The next painting had no people in it, but it took Enjolras no effort to recognize the place. It was the back room of the Musain, in which he leads the ABC meetings, and the illumination Grantaire had managed to put into the painting made everything look like a photograph, if only a bit more ethereal. Because Grantaire hadn’t painted the Musain in its tidiness, no, there were papers – Enjolras’ papers – scattered all across the front desk and some on the floor, the chairs were arranged out of order and one was thrown askew on the floor, the window was open to allow the light in and Enjolras could even see the dust floating in the beam of sunshine that was illuminating half of the wooden floor that had several wine blots all over it. If the meetings on the Musain took place in the mornings, this was exactly how it would look like. Enjolras wondered if Grantaire had taken any reference to paint that, and if so, when.

                “Sometimes I like to go to the Musain on the morning after meetings”, Grantaire explained, creeping Enjolras out with his apparent mind-reading talents. This wasn’t the first time he had guessed what Enjolras was thinking. “It’s quiet”, he continued absentmindedly, in a tone that sounded almost apologetic. “Also, Houcheloup never cleans after the mess we make out of spite, so it always looks like everyone just left, only a bit shinier. It’s like I could walk out of the door and still find you guys lingering outside the café”.

                “I never took you for an early riser”, Enjolras ended up saying, eyes never leaving the Musain portrait. He was at a loss for words, and that was the only thought that occurred him on the moment.

                “I’m usually not”, Grantaire scoffed with humor, raising an eyebrow. “But I haven’t been quite able to sleep properly, lately. So, I figured I should, I don’t know, put this sleepless time into some use. I finished this”, he nodded at the painting, “two days ago”.

                “Why not?”, Enjolras asked, eyes moving to the next canvas. This one showed the Musain from outside, and it was just as beautiful and realistic as the previous one.

                “Hm?”, Grantaire asked, not following Enjolras’ line of thought.

                “You said you haven’t been able to sleep properly”, Enjolras frowned, noticing that there were also several abstract paintings on Grantaire’s studio, all working with contrasting colors and vividness.

                “Oh. Yeah”, Grantaire said, shrugging, as if this wasn’t a big deal. “I’ve been having some nightmares. Nothing to worry about. I’m probably just stressed about some deadlines, that’s all”.

                But something about this didn’t sound right to Enjolras and his heart leaped inside his chest. Nightmares? Lack of sleep? Could this be related to…?

                “What are the nightmares about?”, Enjolras’ frown deepened as he turned around to face Grantaire, who had his arms crossed on the top of his chest as he watched Enjolras analyze his paintings. Grantaire’s eyes showed hesitation for a millisecond, as if he didn’t want to answer Enjolras’ question but didn’t know what to respond, either.

                “Uh, I don’t know”, he said, and it was clear that he was lying. “I usually forget them as soon as I wake up”.

                There was a tense silence in which Enjolras stared at Grantaire, trying to read him for any clues that could indicate that he was dreaming about his… death. But he didn’t want to end up having to tell him about the countdown, not on that rarely precious intimate moment, and he didn’t want to pressure Grantaire into sharing things that he didn’t want to. Their relationship was still too recent and too fragile, and Enjolras needed to take careful, well-thought steps if he didn’t want to end up breaking the thin ice he was walking on. So instead of insisting, he nodded understandably and turned back to looking at Grantaire’s art.

                It felt like something very intimate, entering Grantaire’s studio like this. In fact, now that he thought about it, Enjolras realized that his intimacy with Grantaire was growing very exponentially and very quickly. If he counted the day Grantaire gave him Brownie as their first date, then they had been dating for… 8 days? And here Enjolras was, a week later, standing in Grantaire’s art studio, probably the most important and intimate place to the man. Enjolras couldn’t recall any of his friends ever commenting about visiting Grantaire’s studio, and that somehow made a warm feeling blossom inside his chest, a fondness of some sorts. It made him feel special, and feeling that way, in the face of all the guilt, regret and sorrow he had been feeling ever since Grantaire’s death and resurrection, took a little bit of weight away from Enjolras’ shoulders.

                “I don’t know if that’s good or bad”, Grantaire commented absentmindedly, interrupting Enjolras’ inner monologue. Enjolras tilted his head to the side as he traced the corner of an abstract canvas with his fingertips, careful not to damage the painting.

                “What?”, Enjolras asked, curious, looking at Grantaire through the corner of his eyes.

                “Your silence”, Grantaire responded with a soft smile. “I noticed this. When we’re together, you’ll usually grow silent for minutes straight, as if you’re in a totally different world”.

                “Oh”, Enjolras said, inevitably lowering his head. The warmness in his chest dissipated. “Sorry”.

                Enjolras was usually a quiet person, when he was outside meetings or protests. After all, he was socially anxious, which meant he didn’t exactly hang out too much with his friends outside his or their houses, or easily engaged into social situations. Combeferre and Courfeyrac, his closest friends and men who had already shared an apartment with Enjolras in the past, were used to him not speaking, sometimes for hours or even days in a row. It was usual for Enjolras to be emerged in deep thought, and often when he did so he forgot about his surroundings, thus growing very silent. People close to him knew that. People close to him were used to that.

                But Grantaire still didn’t know him very well, did he?

                Enjolras’ stomach dropped as he realized that he had only been barely dating Grantaire for a week. A week, after years of knowing each other but never getting close, never interacting other than during discussions and arguments. Back in the past, all they did was scream hurtful truths at each other, never hanging out, never conversing. Now that he thought about it, Enjolras couldn’t exactly blame Grantaire for not buying Enjolras’ sudden change in behavior at first. It really must have been odd, spending years being yelled at by Enjolras, only to be treated with fondness overnight. If Enjolras had been in his place, he wouldn’t buy it, either.

                He couldn’t possibly expect – or demand – that Grantaire grew used to his personality in the few time they spent together. In a quick thought, Enjolras realized that he only had 21 days left by Grantaire’s side, if the countdown was real. He had never done that before, except for on the first day – he had never actually put thought into how many days he had left with Grantaire. The realization that he only had 3 weeks with the cynic made his heart shatter, and all the previous warmness or happiness that resided there a few seconds before disappeared for good as Enjolras’ face dropped.

                Grantaire, having no clue that Enjolras was thinking about how their days were counted, probably mistook the leader’s sorrowful expression for disappointment, thinking that Enjolras was upset about the comment on his quietness.

                “No, no, I wasn’t complaining”, Grantaire quickly explained, taking a step towards Enjolras. He smiled reassuringly. “Sorry, it came out wrong. I wasn’t. I wasn’t complaining about you being silent, I was just… saying”, he said, taking Enjolras’ hand into his as if to show the leader that he was saying the truth. “I don’t mind, really. I just think it’s interesting. I wish I could know what goes on inside that brain of yours”, he chuckled.

                Enjolras stared up at Grantaire, hating how the sadness must have been evident in his eyes. Grantaire gave him a tentative smile, to which Enjolras tried his best to mimic.

                “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”, Grantaire asked, raising an empathic eyebrow. “You don’t need to if you don’t want to”, he quickly added, squeezing Enjolras’ hand.

                Enjolras turned his head away from Grantaire, staring at his paintings instead. God, he really had ruined the mood, hadn’t he? Two minutes before, they had been laughing and teasing each other, and now Enjolras was standing at Grantaire’s art studio, looking all unhappy and upset. Grantaire probably thought that it was his fault. He was ruining their date with his sad epiphany.

                “It’s nothing”, Enjolras put on a fake smile, grabbing hold of Grantaire’s other hand and squeezing.  “Aren’t you going to teach me how to dance?”

                “Are you sure you’re up to it?”, Grantaire chuckled, uncertain. “We can do it some other time, if –“

                “Oh, come on, we don’t have time to lose!”, Enjolras said, smiling even though the truth behind these words tasted bitter in his tongue. “The contest is in three weeks”, he added, not wanting Grantaire to grow suspicious. “I have a lot to catch up to”.

                “I really don’t want you to feel like you’re obliged to do this, though”, Grantaire said, for what felt like the millionth time. He let go of Enjolras’ hands to walk over to a tiny desk at the corner of the studio, and picked up a tiny sound box, connecting it to his phone.

                “Since when can anyone oblige me to do anything?”, Enjolras raised a playful eyebrow. “You should see how the government tries”, he added, smiling.

                “You’re ridiculous”, Grantaire grinned, re-approaching Enjolras and stealing a quick kiss from his lips. “Well, c’mon, then. I’m going to teach you some basic moves”, Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’ hand and pulled him closer, a satisfied smile in his lips. “Now, when I step forwards with my left foot, you step back with your right. Like this”, Grantaire showed him, slowly stepping forwards. Enjolras stepped back, hands still holding Grantaire’s for balance and reassurance. “That’s it. Now the same with the right”, Grantaire instructed, stepping forwards again. “Good. Now let’s do it a bit faster so you can get the hang of it”, Grantaire said, increasing the speed of his steps. Enjolras managed to follow, albeit clumsily, until he ended up bumping his back against a canvas he hadn’t seen.

                “Ah, sorry”, Enjolras immediately apologized, but Grantaire waved his hands dismissingly, letting go of the leader.

                “Don’t worry, let me just rearrange that”, he said, picking up canvases and easels and moving them to the corners of the studio so that they could have space to dance. Enjolras noticed that all of Grantaire’s works were uncovered, except for one sitting at the farthest back of the studio, purposefully hidden from view by a sheet of some sorts. Enjolras was curious about the painting, but decided not to say anything. He had already made the date – was it even a date? – awkward enough, and didn’t want to pressure Grantaire. Being in his art studio was already invasive enough, Enjolras didn’t want to pry further into the cynic’s personal life. If Grantaire saw him staring at the covered canvas, he didn’t say anything. “Alright, now we’ll have enough space”, the cynic said, going back to holding Enjolras’ hand. “Now, you need to let your leg slide back…”

                The lesson continued for two hours, with eventual breaks when Grantaire ended up making out with Enjolras in the middle of a dancing move, or when Enjolras asked for time to catch his breath after a complicated movement. Grantaire was, in fact, a really good teacher like he had said, and the intensity of the lesson was enough to render Enjolras sweaty and tired, but also bearing basic beginner’s knowledge of tango by the time they were done. He was still pretty clumsy when it came to some movements, and looking mechanic and robotic when it came to others – his body lacked the natural flow to dance that Grantaire seemed to have. But still, according to the cynic, he’d be fine to compete given the three weeks they would still have to train.

                “Ah, I’m hungry as fuck”, Grantaire said, cleaning the thin sheen of sweat that had appeared on his brow with the back of his hand. “Want to grab something to eat?”

                “Yes”, Enjolras panted, smiling. His face was probably flushed with the effort that dancing brought, and his skin was sticky with sweat, but he still allowed his arm to intertwine with Grantaire’s as the cynic locked the door to his dancing studio and led Enjolras down the stairs.

                “You did pretty well for a beginner”, Grantaire commented as they walked down the street of his studio.

                “Lier”, Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately.

                “Sure am, but this time I’m serious”, Grantaire chuckled. “You’re still a little stiff but you’ll get the hang of it. I think we can start working on the choreography next class”, he winked. “Ah, there’s a nice place nearby where they sell great burgers. Do you like burgers?”

                “Well…”, Enjolras shrugged. He wasn’t a big fan of meat in general, but if he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t been eating properly in over a week and could see that he had already begun to lose weight. Maybe a burger could help him regain some of the pounds he’d lost? “Sure, that sounds great”.

                “Uh, ok”, Grantaire gave him a suspicious look. “Well, as I was saying, we can start working on the choreography next class. But I need to know in which days you’re available to train?”

                “Oh”, Enjolras blinked rapidly. “Ah. Um, I suppose any day that doesn’t have meetings on it”, he shrugged. “So, Tuesday, Thursday and the weekends”.

                “Ah, that’s good enough. I’m sure I can make you learn how to dance more decently until then”, Grantaire jested, and Enjolras playfully shoved him to the side. “But don’t you have work to do?”

                “Hm?”, Enjolras hummed absentmindedly.

                “Well, I mean”, Grantaire shrugged. “You’re always working. Except for these past week, I guess. But other than that, you barely have time for anything else”.

                Enjolras’ lips shut to form a thin line. What could he say? He didn’t have a good enough excuse to give Grantaire. They arrived at the burger place, and Grantaire politely held the door open for Enjolras, who thanked him shyly. They sat by the table, and just as Enjolras opened his mouth to blurt out some barely-thought excuse, a waitress approached them.

                “Hi, R”, she greeted with a smile. Grantaire smiled back.

                ‘Hey, Delphine. Can I get the usual and a cup of soda?”

                “Soda, huh?”, she raised an eyebrow, writing down Grantaire’s order on her notepad. “What happened to your usual can of beer?”

                “Ah, not having it today”, Grantaire chuckled, lowering his head.

                “What about you, pretty boy?”, Delphine turned to look at Enjolras, but her eyes suddenly widened and her lips parted. She blinked at Enjolras as if he had grown a second head, which made the leader feel uncomfortable in his own skin. “Is… is this…?”, she stuttered, eyes darting between Enjolras and Grantaire, who had buried his flushing face in his hands and was groaning something that sounded like a prolonged “no”.

                “Apollo?!”, Delphine exclaimed, her face a mixture of surprise and a shit-eating grin. Enjolras blushed. Did this mean that Grantaire talked about him to everyone he met? And not only did he talk about him, but also called him _Apollo_?

                “My name is Enjolras”, Enjolras tried to keep composed, at a loss for a better response. Delphine chuckled.

                “Wow. He _does_ look like marble”, she commented at Grantaire, who was now glaring daggers at the woman from his seat. Ignoring the cynic, she turned back to Enjolras. “So, what is your order, En-jol-ras?”, she pronounced the name mockingly.

                “I…”, Enjolras hesitated, looking at Grantaire for a few seconds before gazing at the menu. “I don’t know, I’ve never been here. What… what do you suggest?” he asked Grantaire’s still flushed form.

                “It’s a burger shop, there isn’t much of a mystery”, he waved a hand off, clearly avoiding Enjolras’ eyes.

                “Oh”, Enjolras said, taken aback by Grantaire’s snappiness. Usually, the leader would become even snappier when receiving a response of that sort, and immediately reply with something even ruder. But this time, he was feeling too tired and embarrassed to start a discussion in public. Instead, he fidgeted with the menu for a while, reading without quite understanding the options, Delphine standing between them and waiting. After a while, Grantaire seemed to take pity on Enjolras’ struggle to decide what he would have and took the menu from his hands, checking it.

                “Are you allergic to pickles?”, he asked without looking up at his boyfriend.

                “Uh… No”, Enjolras frowned.

                “To bacon?”, Grantaire continued offhandedly.

                “What?”, Enjolras asked.

                “Are you allergic to bacon?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow, meeting Enjolras’ eyes.

                “Ah. No”, Enjolras said.

                “To bread?”, Grantaire continued.

                “No?”, Enjolras frowned again.

                “Hm… tomatoes?”

                “No, the only thing I’m allergic to is –“, Enjolras tried to say but was interrupted by Grantaire.

                “Sesame?”

                “No, because –“

                “Mustard?”

                “Grantaire, listen to me”, Enjolras said, reaching forwards and grabbing both of Grantaire’s hands. It felt weird to do that with a woman – apparently Grantaire’s friend – watching them talk, but Enjolras put that thought aside and stared deep into Grantaire’s eyes. “The only thing I am allergic to is peanuts”, Enjolras said, trying to use a reassuring tone. “Ok? You don’t need to worry about this”.

                Grantaire stared at Enjolras in awe for a few seconds before turning his head to Delphine, face going neutral, and saying:

                “He’s having the same as me”.

                Delphine, who looked like she was about to have a seizure, nodded and basically ran away from the table, giggling. Enjolras let out a shaky breath and squeezed Grantaire’s hand, smiling.

                “You aren’t allergic to soda, are you?”, Grantaire frowned in sudden realization, making Enjolras roll his eyes with affection.

                “No, I’m not” Enjolras said. “I’m not allergic to anything except for peanuts, alright?”

                “Right. Yeah. Sorry”, Grantaire scoffed with humor, lowering his head again. Enjolras squeezed his hands one more time and let go.

                “It’s fine, R”, Enjolras reassured shyly. He understood Grantaire’s fear of giving Enjolras another anaphylactic shock, he really did. In fact, his concern about Enjolras was rather cute. They fell into a tense silence after that, but it only lasted a few moments.

                “So”, Grantaire said from where he was sitting on the table in front of Enjolras, leaning forwards and holding his head up with his hand. He hesitantly met Enjolras’ eyes. “What did you think of the lesson?”

                “I liked it”, Enjolras smiled, pushing some of his wayward curls behind his ear. “I like spending time with you”.

                “Who’d figure”, Grantaire grinned, idly playing with the saltshaker on the desk so just his other hand would have something to do. Enjolras lowered his head. He hated remembering the treatment he used to give Grantaire in the past.

                A long silence outstretched between them, which either of them felt the need to break, silence but neither knew what to say. Grantaire, for once, seemed to be the one emerged in deep thought, and Enjolras observed him, trying to think of any possible subject to bring up.

                “Look, about what Delphine said”, Grantaire started suddenly, without looking up at Enjolras. “I’m sorry, I really am, I’m not some sort of creep that –“

                “R”, Enjolras interrupted his boyfriend once more. “R. I know”, he giggled.

                “No, really”, Grantaire continued, throwing his hair back with one hand. “I know how it must have sounded and I understand that you must have found gross or creepy or whatever, but I swear I don’t go around talking about you to everyone in the streets, ok?”

                “I _know_ ”, Enjolras said with vehemence, an amused smile in his lips. He giggled at the way Grantaire avoided his eyes in clear awkwardness about that situation, and tried to find a way to reassure him. “I talk about you to people too”, Enjolras settled for saying, hoping that would help the cynic feel less embarrassed. Grantaire looked up at him, frowning.

                “You… do?”, he asked, surprised.

                “Of course”, Enjolras smiled as if it was obvious. It was kind of true, wasn’t it? Ever since Grantaire’s death, the only subject he ever talked about was the cynic. Grantaire hummed on the back of his throat, a mixture of confusion and pleasing in his face. He grabbed the saltshaker from the table and started to play with it idly, just to keep his hands occupied as he went back to emerging in deep thought. Another silence followed. Enjolras watched him, not knowing whether he should find Grantaire’s concentration adorable or worrisome. His heart became to beat faster in anticipation.

                Eventually, Grantaire tapped the saltshaker against the table and intertwined his fingers in front of himself, staring straight at Enjolras with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

                “So”, he sighed, looking like he was about to give Enjolras terrible news. “What is this about, Enjolras?”

                “W-what?”, Enjolras frowned, genuinely confused.

                “Look, I know that we agreed that we’d be serious about this whole relationship thing, but…”, he trailed off with a resigned sigh. “I just don’t know”. Upon seeing the way Enjolras’ face fell, Grantaire quickly added: “No, not like that. Of _course_ I want to be in a relationship with you. Like, if there’s one thing I want, ever, is… this”, he gestured to the empty space between himself and Enjolras. “But there are things that I need to understand in order to make this work, you know?”, he sounded slightly frustrated.

                “Like… what?”, Enjolras asked, hesitant. Grantaire lowered his head, throwing his hair back with a hand in a nervous gesture.

                “Fuck, I don’t even know why I’m starting this conversation, I’ll probably just ruin everything”, he laughed humorlessly. “I should shut the heck up right now. I shouldn’t have listened to Joly”.

                “Hey”, Enjolras outstretched a hand across the table, holding one of Grantaire’s and squeezing it despite of feeling very anxious himself. “You can tell me”, he said, trying his best to sound reassuring. Grantaire took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

                “Look, what I’m meaning to say is that you’ve never been… like this, you know?”, he started, looking slightly embarrassed and not quite meeting Enjolras’ eyes. Enjolras’ blood ran cold, but he kept holding Grantaire’s hand. “And I know that we’ve already talked about this and we agreed to be on a relationship but well, I was kind of drunk then but I’m not now and I… I need to make things clear. Ok? I… I need to know why you’re doing this”.

                “Doing what, R?”, Enjolras said, swallowing past the knot that had formed in his throat. He only hoped Grantaire didn’t notice how constricted his voice sounded.

                “ _This_ ”, Grantaire sighed, once again pointing to the space between himself and Enjolras. “You never liked me, Enj”, he said, and before Enjolras could protest, he shook his head, interrupting the leader before he could even start. “No, c’mon now. You know it’s true, I know it’s true. It’s true, ok? You never liked me before, or at least you never showed so until… what, two weeks ago? But the point is that until last month tops, I was sure that you hated me, and now we’re dating. I need… I need to know where this came from. You can’t… have just… developed feelings for me overnight”, he sighed.

                “I…”, Enjolras begun, swallowing dry. But it was true, wasn’t it? He couldn’t have just developed feelings for Grantaire overnight, and yet, there he was. Once again, he wondered if his feelings weren’t a product of his guilt for having Grantaire die in his place, but even if it had begun as such, it was undeniably love, now. He had never been through a situation like this in his life, and had no idea of how he was supposed to act. What was he supposed to tell Grantaire? What could he possibly tell him to reaffirm his feelings, to let Grantaire know that he sincerely wanted to date him? That there wasn’t a catch? His heart was beating madly inside his chest. Grantaire was right. On the other times they had talked about Enjolras’ sudden change of behavior, Grantaire had been intoxicated. For once, he was sober, and Enjolras no longer had an easy way out of this.

                For a fraction of a second, in the past, Enjolras had had the courage to tell Grantaire about the countdown clock. But now, now that Enjolras had the clear opportunity to finally get rid of that weight and tell Grantaire the whole story, the whole truth, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not only because of his disgusting selfishness, but because he was very aware of what the truth would sound like. If he told Grantaire about the countdown on that precise moment, it would sound like the only reason Enjolras ever dated him was related to guilt. And that could have been the partial truth one day, but it wasn’t now. Not anymore. Enjolras sure felt guilty, yes, but that alone wasn’t enough to make him do the things that he had done over the course of that week. Guilt, alone, wasn’t enough to make him get drunk and dance in a stranger’s party. Guilt wasn’t enough to make him take in a dog, or allow someone he barely ever talked to into his shower, into his house. Guilt wasn’t enough to make him go not only to a nightclub – the sort of place that Enjolras dreaded – but also to an underground fighting den, or to make him cuddle with Grantaire as they slept together on the same bed, or to feel _jealous_ of Éponine and Fred, or to learn how to dance tango and agree to compete in front of dozens of people.

                Guilt, alone, wasn’t enough to make him put his cause, the most important aspect of his life, in a second plan.

                He loved Grantaire. There was no denying that anymore. He didn’t _want_ to deny it anymore. And if Enjolras couldn’t tell him the truth and be honest about the countdown, for the cynic’s own sake, then he could at least be honest about his own feelings. He owed Grantaire as much. And even if the idea of confessing himself for the cynic right then and there was scary and made him anxious, Enjolras would do it. There was no putting it off anymore.

                Maybe he would sound ridiculous and pathetic for telling Grantaire that he loved him after just a week of dating. Maybe Grantaire would think he was taking a step too far in their relationship, maybe he’d be freaked out, maybe he’d be _grossed_ out, maybe he’d hate Enjolras and never speak to him again. But Enjolras didn’t care. He already felt like everything he told Grantaire was a lie because of the whole countdown situation; now that Grantaire gave him a breach to be honest and sincere, Enjolras found himself desperate to take the opportunity and speak the truth, for once. So, he took in a deep breath, cleared his throat, swallowed dry, and prepared himself to provide the answer to Grantaire’s question.

                “I… never do things half-way”, Enjolras started, too embarrassed to properly meet Grantaire’s eyes. “Never. I think it’s a gift and a curse, really. Because whenever I feel things, I feel them too intensely. That’s the reason why I always seem so stoic and cold when I’m angry, actually. I just… can’t control it. I wish I could”, he sighed. “But what I mean is, when I like someone, or something, I like it too much. And when I don’t like something, I despise it completely”.

                Before Enjolras could finish what he wanted to say, Delphine arrived with their orders, placing two large burgers with fries in front of them. Enjolras had to let go of Grantaire’s hand to give her room to place the plates on the table. She gave the pair a thumbs up and a tiny wink before disappearing behind the counter again. Grantaire begun picking at the fries, but Enjolras didn’t have the appetite to eat his food just yet. He needed to finish what he was saying. Grantaire gestured for him to go on at the same time he took a large bite of his own sandwich. Enjolras suspected that the cynic just wanted a reason not to speak.

                “Well, as… as I was saying”, Enjolras cleared his throat. “It is true, that I never payed you too much positive attention in the past”, he continued. “And it is true that my… change in behavior was very sudden and very intense. But this is because I am an oblivious man, incapable to acknowledge my own feelings until they are slapping me in the face. And because, like I said, whenever I feel, I do so intensely, and… and…”, Enjolras trailed off with a frustrated groan. This was a lousy, unnatural speech and he was losing control of it. He might as well just get straight to the point before he managed to ruin things even further. He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and blurted out: “Grantaire, I love you”. Enjolras hated how nervous he ended up sounding.

                Finally looking up to meet Grantaire’s eyes, Enjolras saw the cynic to be frozen mid-chew, holding his burger half way up to his mouth and one of his cheeks full with food. His eyes were slightly wide and glued to Enjolras, who already felt himself blushing. Enjolras’ own eyes widened as he leaned back against his seat, heart thumping madly inside his chest. This was it. He’d done it. Great.

                If he was being honest, this wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined confessing his love for Grantaire would be like. He had sort of expected it to be more romantic, or maybe during a making out session, or during a sweet moment they shared together. Instead, they were sitting at an unfamiliar – at least to Enjolras – burger shop, both sweaty and tired from spending hours dancing, in the middle of a plainly regular Sunday day, Grantaire with his mouth full of food in a way that should be comic were it not for the way he was staring at Enjolras as if he had grown a second head. Maybe Enjolras had romanticized the idea of confessing his feelings too much, because this was not what he had expected.

                Finally, Grantaire resumed chewing the food in his mouth, after an eternity of staring at Enjolras in shock. He swallowed with something akin to difficulty, setting his burger down in the plate in front of him and taking a large gulp of his soda before placing both shaky hands on the top of the table. Enjolras watched him with a posture similar to one of a frightened deer, face flushed and eyes wide in anticipation to Grantaire’s response. Grantaire’s silence was making him anxious, and if it outstretched for much longer, he’d end up cowering and running away from the restaurant.

                He should have kept his mouth shut. He shouldn’t have declared himself for Grantaire like that. He had overstepped the very same boundary that Grantaire feared so much; he had thrown a week of development in the trash by applying too much pressure and breaking the fragile, thin ice that was the only thing holding him up and keeping him from sinking. Because now he was sinking, sinking, sinking into cold water that felt just like the feeling of dread that was settling on the bottle of his heart. Maybe, just maybe, Grantaire didn’t love him back – he probably didn’t, from the way he wasn’t saying anything at all in response to Enjolras’ declaration.

                Thankfully, Enjolras didn’t have to run away – how embarrassing would that have been? –, for Grantaire cleared his throat and blinked dumbly at the leader several times. The cynic’s face was pale and his hands were visibly shaking, despite of his weak attempts to hide it by intertwining his fingers. He swallowed dry several times before finally speaking.

                “I… Um. Er”, he cleared his throat again, eyes never meeting Enjolras’ and gazing at the latter’s untouched food instead. “Well. I…”, he sighed, resigned. “I’m sorry, what?”, his shoulders dropped, face looking pained and so terribly confused. Enjolras frowned.

                “I…”, he started, embarrassed. “I said I l-love y-you”, Enjolras finished, voice merely above a whisper. Saying it once had been terrifying enough, but saying it twice, especially after Grantaire’s reaction, was torture. He had gone too far. They had only been dating for a week, for god’s sake, and he was already telling Grantaire that he loved him. This was so incredibly amateur and _wrong_ that Enjolras couldn’t help but to panic, anxiety only growing and consumind his whole chest. His heart was beating so fast that it hurt. His brain was screaming at him to run away. His palms were sweaty and it was very hard to breathe. Barely any air was reaching his lungs. Maybe he was dying. Maybe he was having a heart attack on that very moment. Good. He had caused Grantaire’s death, and now Grantaire would cause _his_ death. It was fair, if Enjolras was being honest.

                “You… love me?”, Grantaire asked, face very neutral if not for the wideness of his eyes. His voice was monotone and that alone was enough to make Enjolras’ chest hurt even more.

                “I…”, Enjolras started, breathless. His vision was becoming blurry and his eyes were tearing up despite of himself. His heart felt like it was about to explode, his head was hurting, his tongue was dry. He could no longer feel his face or his fingers, both going numb, and his lungs were burning from the lack of air. It was only when Enjolras’ chest tightened painfully that he emitted an embarrassingly loud gulping sound and blurt out: “I think I’m dying” in a desperate, breathless tone.

                “And that’s why you love me?”, Grantaire frowned, genuinely confused, but Enjolras emitted another loud, gulping sound as he tried to breathe in without success. The gulping was followed by a succession of sounds of the same nature as Enjolras tried desperately to get the air to reach his lungs. Something rational deep inside his mind hinted _panic attack_ but his emotional part was convinced that he was just dying, because now all his limbs had gone numb and the room around him was spinning and shit, he definitely didn’t want to die at an unknown burger shop with Grantaire calling his name desperately.

                And oh, Enjolras noticed from beneath the dizziness that had overcome his mind, _Grantaire_ was there, calling his name, but Enjolras couldn’t be sure of where they were or where _he_ was anymore. There were too many tears blurring his vision and the room was spinning too fast for him to be able to focus on anything or anyone. He was vaguely aware of Grantaire’s voice calling his name and telling him something, but the words were parts of phrases that were too long and distant for Enjolras to understand.

                And then there was a hand holding one of his limbs – he thought it was his arm – and the world spun around until his head connected with a soft surface. He thought he could feel tears running down his face even though he wasn’t exactly crying, but he presumed that it was just a reflex to the lack of air. The only things he could hear were a high pitch in his ears and the sound of his own ragged breathing. A hand found its way to his curls and soothed them, caressing his scalp with enough pressure for him to feel the touch but not enough to repel him. As minutes passed by, air found its way into his lungs more easily, until Enjolras was finally able to take in deep and more regular breaths. Slowly, gradually, his senses returned to him, and he finally realized that his eyes had been closed all this time. The words that were being said to him finally made some kind of sense.

                “Shh, shh, that’s it, it’s ok, take your time. You’re doing great. That’s it, deep breaths. Take deep breaths for me, alright?”, Grantaire was telling him, voice low and soothing, fingers tracing soothing patterns against Enjolras’ scalp. “Count to three and then let go. One, two, three. Deep breaths. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok”.

                Enjolras looked around without recognizing their surroundings. They were in a darkish, unfamiliar room, that smelled of frying oil and meat. Enjolras was lying down on his side on the floor, curled up, but his head was leaning on Grantaire’s lap. He tentatively looked up at Grantaire, shame clear in his eyes as he searched the cynic’s face for something he didn’t know.

                “I’m here”, Grantaire reassured him with a gentle smile, never stopping to caress his curls. “Take your time”.

                “Where… are we?”, Enjolras frowned, embarrassment and frustration filling him as he realized how hoarse and constricted his voice sounded.

                “We’re at the back room of the restaurant. The manager allowed us to use it until you felt better. I presumed you wouldn’t like it very much to have all those strangers watching you and fussing all over you”, the cynic explained, and Enjolras had never felt more grateful for Grantaire’s (rare) tact in his life.

                He hated having panic attacks. In fact, it had been years since he had his last one. But with all the stress and unhealthy habits he had been putting up with lately, Enjolras wasn’t exactly surprised that it resulted on this. He only regretted that it had been in front of Grantaire, right after he confessed his love for the man. If he hadn’t managed to ruin the date before, he definitely had now.

                “Hey”, Grantaire called with gentleness. “There’s no need to feel embarrassed, ok?”, he squeezed one of Enjolras’ shoulders, when he realized that the leader was trying to hide his face. “It’s fine. It’s not something to be ashamed of. I understand”, he reassured.

                “I’m sorry”, Enjolras groaned.

                “There’s nothing to apologize for”, Grantaire immediately responded.

                “I ruined our date”, Enjolras added with a sigh.

                “No, you didn’t. I swear, it’s fine”, Grantaire said, intertwining his pinky finger with Enjolras’ before going back to caressing him.

                “Stop saying that everything I do is fine!”, Enjolras snapped despite of himself. Why did Grantaire forgive everything he did so easily? Why was he never mad at Enjolras? Why was he so good and understanding and gentle when all Enjolras did was lie to him and hide important truths from him?

                “Enjolras, calm down”, Grantaire said when Enjolras abruptly got up from his lap and into a sitting position. He was a bit dizzy for a few moments, but refused Grantaire’s help when the cynic tried to hold him. “You’re clearly stressed, you need to get home and rest. We can talk about this tomorrow, if you’re feeling better”.

                “There’s nothing to talk about”, Enjolras stumbled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. His legs felt too heavy and his limbs were still shaking.

                “Yes, there is _a fucking lot_ to talk about. Now sit down before you injure yourself, you just had a panic attack”, Grantaire instructed in a tone that didn’t accept protesting. With a simple yank to Enjolras’ shirt, he pulled Enjolras’ shaking form back to the floor, and he would have fallen face first on the greasy floor if Grantaire hadn’t held him in his arms. He helped Enjolras to sit back down, back glued to Grantaire’s torso as they somewhat spooned in a sitting position on the floor. The cynic hugged Enjolras from the behind, splaying a hand on the top of the leader’s chest and using his other to caress Enjolras’ arm as he kept him somewhat upright. Grantaire put no pressure into his touches; his body language told Enjolras that he would be able to free himself from the hug and get away any moment he wanted. It was intended to comfort, and despite of all the stress and adrenaline coursing through Enjolras’ veins, he rejoiced on the gesture and the gentleness of Grantaire’s movements. Feeling the rise and fall of the cynic’s chest against his back was enough to help Enjolras’ breathing pattern to return to something near enough to normal. They were in silence for several minutes, just breathing together and closely to each other in the darkness of the tiny room. Unlike it had happened before, Enjolras no longer felt the need to say something to break the silence.

Grantaire, eventually, started humming a song that Enjolras had never heard before, but the sound was soothing and relaxing. The hand caressing Enjolras’ arm went back to caressing his blond curls, and the leader allowed his eyes to slip close as his body relaxed and sunk back against Grantaire’s.

                “I’ve never heard this song before”, Enjolras commented quietly after what felt like an eternity. Grantaire hummed on the back of his throat.

                “It’s Brazilian. Not very famous, even back there”, Grantaire shrugged. “But I like it, I guess”.

                “What is it called?”, Enjolras asked, fingers idly playing with the fabric of Grantaire’s shirt and tracing patterns on the surface.

                “ _Como Vês_ ”, Grantaire said absentmindedly. Enjolras nodded.

                “What is it about?”, Enjolras asked after more moments of silence and thinking. Grantaire chuckled humorlessly.

                “It’s about how love takes away everything from us, and ends up destroying us”, he told Enjolras, who didn’t quite know what to respond to that.

                He couldn’t help but to see the terrible irony in the fact that Grantaire was humming a song about how love destroys people, when it was his love for Enjolras that got him killed.

                “How macabre”, Enjolras commented humorlessly.

                “There’s a reason why it’s not very famous”, Grantaire chuckled.

                “I like to hear you sing”, Enjolras commented. He was feeling exhausted and his limbs were heavy. The beginning of a headache was starting to appear on his temples, and if he remained on that dark room with Grantaire for much longer, he’d end up falling asleep. However, he couldn’t bring himself to get up just yet, for the idea of having to walk all the way back to his apartment just made him feel even more exhausted.

                “Is that so?”, Grantaire responded with curiosity.

                “Yes”, Enjolras said simply.

                “Hmm”, Grantaire said, beginning to hum a different tune. It sounded slightly happier than the previous one, but it was still unfamiliar to Enjolras.

                “I don’t know that one, either”, Enjolras said with an apologetic sigh.

                “ _Le vent nous portera_ ”, Grantaire commented idly, fingers never ceasing to trace soothing patterns on Enjolras’ scalp. “I’ll make you a playlist, later”, he chuckled playfully.

                “I’d appreciate it”, Enjolras smiled weakly, tracing his fingers across the veins in Grantaire’s hands.

                It felt intimate, that moment between the two of them, even though they were half-lying down/cuddling on the sticky floor of the back room of a restaurant after Enjolras confessed his love for Grantaire and proceeded to have a nasty panic attack. If he ignored the bone-deep exhaustion he was feeling due to his anxiety, the frustration he was feeling for confessing his love in such a blurted, impulsive way and the shame he was feeling for having a panic attack in front of Grantaire, Enjolras could convince himself that he was comfortable resting against Grantaire’s body, the cynic’s hand on the top of his chest reassuring him despite of everything. Grantaire’s constant heartbeat against Enjolras’ back reassured the leader, somehow.

                “Hey, R”, Enjolras said after more minutes of pure, unbroken silence between them, in a rush of adrenaline. Grantaire hummed on the back of his throat to let Enjolras know that he had heard him. “Sorry for ruining our date”, he said, even though he knew he had already apologized for that.

                “You didn’t ruin anything”, Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I told you, it’s ok and there is nothing to be ashamed of”, he made a small pause. “Are you taking any medication?”

                “No”, Enjolras said, thankful that the darkness of the room prevented Grantaire from seeing him blush. “I stopped taking it a while ago. It’s been years since I had a panic attack like this”, he sighed in defeat. Grantaire hummed again.

                “You have been looking pretty stressed, lately”, Grantaire commented. Enjolras’ shoulder stiffened against his will. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

                “I don’t know”, Enjolras admitted. After the cynic’s death, the only thing that seemed to ease Enjolras down was being around Grantaire. But now he just had the worst panic attack he remembered going through in a long, long time, and even if Enjolras would never admit it, Grantaire had been kind of the cause of it. So, he couldn’t be sure of the extent of Grantaire’s helping effects over his stress anymore.

                “Hm”, Grantaire hummed, pensive. “Maybe you should relax a little. Do something you enjoy. A hobby, or something like that”.

                “I…”, Enjolras looked around the dark room, embarrassed. “I don’t think I have many hobbies?”, he admitted.

                “Oh, c’mon. There has to be something you enjoy doing for recreation”, Grantaire chuckled. When Enjolras responded nothing to that, his face dropped. “Oh”, he frowned.

                “I used to enjoy reading but I don’t have any new books or the time to spend on them. Writing is too important to me and the cause to be considered a hobby. And I don’t do much of anything else”, he shrugged, not feeling like elaborating any further. He could feel Grantaire nod against the top of his head, and they fell back into silence.

                “Here’s what we’re going to do”, Grantaire said gently. “It’s still 6 p.m. When you’re feeling better, I’m going to take you home, you’re going to take a warm, nice shower and relax. We can watch a movie, if you want, just to keep you distracted. And then, straight to bed with you, mister. You need to sleep; I can see it in your eyes you haven’t been keeping up to your sleeping schedule”.

                “Neither have you”, Enjolras retorted childishly.

                “Fair point”, Grantaire chuckled. He sounded like he wanted to say something else, but he never did so.

                Enjolras was beginning to feel a little better – or at least as better as it could get inside the backroom of a restaurant – and the urge to escape from that place grew stronger by the second. All he wanted was his bed and his puppy and the safety of his apartment. But he didn’t know how to tell Grantaire that he was ready to leave.

                At the same time Enjolras managed to convince himself to speak up and tell his boyfriend that he was feeling better, he felt Grantaire hold his breath behind him. Enjolras kept his mouth shut, waiting for the cynic to speak up first. The tension between them, despite of their proximity, felt electric.

                “Hey, Enj?”, Grantaire asked, clearly trying to keep his voice calm and cool. Once again Enjolras rejoiced at the intimacy of that moment they were sharing, despite of the rather unexpected location. Grantaire’s warmness behind him and his fingers caressing Enjolras’ scalp felt better than anything Enjolras had felt in weeks.

                “Yes?”, Enjolras responded, uncertain. He couldn’t predict what Grantaire was about was about to tell him, no matter how his racing mind tried. His heart begun beating faster, and there was no way Grantaire didn’t feel that, with his hand splayed against Enjolras’ chest like it was. The only thing that comforted Enjolras was that, for some reason, he could feel Grantaire’s heart beat as fast as his own against his back. There were seconds of tense, pensive silence before Grantaire finally spoke up.

                “I love you too”, he said simply.

                Enjolras could swear that his and Grantaire’s frantic, desperate heartbeats synchronized at some point, being directly beneath the other as they were. Enjolras merely breathed in and out, deeply as Grantaire had asked him to and patiently as if to regain some of his calm. He didn’t know what to say. Deep inside, he had always known that Grantaire loved him, ever since the day Jehan told Enjolras so inside that empty hospital bathroom back on the day that Grantaire died. But to hear that being confirmed – to have that knowledge being reassured, and decisively wiping away all of Enjolras’ doubts and insecurities felt wonderful. It lifted another part of the weight on Enjolras’ shoulders, and the leader finally found the strength necessary to uncurl himself from Grantaire’s hug and lift himself from his position against the cynic’s chest, turning on the floor to look him in the eye properly for the first time since the panic attack.

                Grantaire had a softness and a warmness in his eyes that were characteristic to him whenever it came to Enjolras. Those traits were reserved to Enjolras and Enjolras alone, and that made the leader feel special, a warmness blossoming on the bottom of his chest. He allowed himself to smile softly at Grantaire, lips curling upwards and a sparkle reaching his eyes, and despite of the blotchiness on Enjolras’ face, hiding away his freckles from view, and the redness of his nose, Grantaire could swear that the leader was the most beautiful man he had ever had the grace of knowing. He could barely even see Enjolras in the dimly lit room, but he could recognize the greenness of his eyes, the goldenness of his curls, the rosiness of his full lips. As Enjolras gazed upon him with the softest of looks in his eyes, Grantaire allowed a hand to find its way to Enjolras face, thumb caressing the soft skin of his cheek and setting on his brow.

                No further words were needed. Enjolras loved Grantaire. Grantaire loved Enjolras. That was all they had, that was all they could ever wish for. Enjolras slowly closed the remaining distance between himself and Grantaire, both sitting up straight now, and allowed a hand to rest on the top of the cynic’s chest just like Grantaire’s hand had rested on the top of Enjolras’ seconds before. He leaned forwards, head leaning against Grantaire’s shoulder, nose buried against the cynic’s head and taking in his scent. Grantaire enveloped Enjolras in his arms, pulling him closer to himself in a heartfelt hug. They didn’t feel the need to kiss each other right then. It was a moment of transcendence. Their love was pure and newfound; all that each of them needed on that precise moment was to feel the warmth of each other’s skin, to feel each other’s constant heartbeat. Enjolras felt content. Enjolras felt complete.

                They stayed like that, hugging each other inside a dark room in a restaurant, for what felt like an eternity, muscled growing sore and limbs growing numb from the unchanged position. But neither of them cared. Eventually, it was Enjolras who broke the silence.

                “I think I’m ready to go”, he said softly, whispered words echoing in the darkness of the room. Grantaire held him closer before letting him go.

-

                They both decided that Enjolras was in urgent need of a power nap (even though it was early night) and that the leader’s place was too far away from the restaurant. The mere thought of having to take a bus ride home made Enjolras’ knees weaker with tiredness, and he didn’t even protest much when Grantaire offered his (technically Joly’s) place for Enjolras to stay the night.

                Enjolras was honestly afraid of overstepping yet another boundary in their newly found relationship, but his limbs were heavy with exhaustion and his eyelids were blinking sluggishly. Panic attacks always took their toll on him, leaving him ruined for anything that demanded the slightest bit of exercise afterwards it. Grantaire had to practically sustain him upright as they walked the few blocks that distanced the restaurant from the apartment building, not even bothering to make small talk, aware of Enjolras’ tiredness as he was. Enjolras was somewhat grateful for that, even though he had grown to love conversing with Grantaire. They arrived at the building and climbing the stairs up to Joly’s apartment was the worst part, since Enjolras’ knees were still a little bit shaky and he was tired as hell.

                “You know, I could carry you up if you want to”, Grantaire offered in an absentminded tone, but Enjolras could sense the hesitation behind that. Blushing slightly, he shook his head.

                “There is no need, I can do this”, he said, straightening his previously slumped shoulders as if to prove his point. He didn’t let go of Grantaire’s arm, though.

                Enjolras only had a few seconds to think about what he was going to tell Joly and Bossuet – he had no idea how much they knew about his relationship with Grantaire – before the cynic opened the door to the apartment and revealed the last thing Enjolras was expecting to see on that moment.

                Most of the Amis – except for Combeferre and Feuilly – were in the living room, sitting in a circle look-alike formation and chatting absentmindedly. Jehan was kneeling in front of the TV with at least three different DVDs in hands, looking at them with a puzzled expression as if trying to decide which one was the best. Bahorel already had a can of beer in hands and was gesturing widely with it as he chatted with Courfeyrac, who was crouched comfortably on the edge of the couch. Joly and Bossuet were already nestled on their love seat, Musichetta arriving from the kitchen with three beer bottles in hand and passing them over to her boyfriends before sitting between them on the chair. She was the first one to notice that Grantaire and Enjolras were standing by the open door, surprised.

                “Hey! The lovebirds arrived!”, she announced cheerfully and with a wide smile, making everyone stop what they were doing to stare at the pair at the door. Usually, Enjolras wouldn’t have minded, since he was among friends – he was used to them staring and teasing him and knew how to take that – but the way Jehan’s face fell as soon as he spotted Enjolras standing beside Grantaire on the door made the leader’s heart give a weak, uncomfortable leap and heat rise to the tip of his ears.

                Grantaire spared Enjolras a quick sided glance before grabbing his hand and pulling the leader behind him as they entered the apartment, closing the door with a tiny click and smiling at their friends.

                “Hey guys! What’s up?”, he asked, barely managing to hide the frown from his brow. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that many people to be there.

                “It’s movie night, remember?”, Joly smiled at his best friend. “Jehan came over because he wanted to talk to you, so I decided to invite the rest of the guys over to watch the movie with the three of us”, he gestured to Bossuet and Musichetta. Upon seeing the barely hidden uncomfortableness in Enjolras’ face, Joly’s smile faltered and he added: “I hope that’s ok”.

                “No, no, it’s fine”, Grantaire smiled, and Enjolras closed his mouth. Grantaire squeezed his hand in a nearly non-perceptible way before continuing: “We’ll… We’ll be right back. Excuse us”, he announced with a forced smile, and then Enjolras was basically being dragged to Grantaire’s bedroom. Jehan glared at him as he went, and Enjolras tried to tell himself that it hadn’t bothered him. “I’m sorry”, Grantaire blurted out as soon as the bedroom’s door was closed, giving Enjolras a sincerely apologetic look. “I forgot it was movie night and even if I had remembered, it’s usually just Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta. They rarely invite more people to it”.

                “It’s ok”, Enjolras tried to smile, reassuring. “You couldn’t have known”.

                “Nah, it would have been better if I had taken you to your place. But you can stay in here if you want, _I_ can stay here with you if you want, I’ll just give them any excuse –“

                “R”, Enjolras interrupted. “I won’t make you stay locked away in your bedroom while our friends are out there having fun”.

                “But you’re nearly dropping from exhaustion”, Grantaire frowned. There was a small pause in which Enjolras didn’t know what to respond, and Grantaire must have taken that as resignation. “See. We can stay here”, he offered in a lower tone.

                “Grantaire”, Enjolras said more seriously. He could see how eager his boyfriend was to socialize with their friends, and the idea of making him stay inside a dark room just for Enjolras’ sake sounded selfish and impolite. Enjolras could always relieve himself from the burden of socializing – he loved his friends and enjoyed talking to them, but he _was_ tired and he _needed_ to sleep. And yet, there was something stopping him from telling Grantaire to go and staying alone in his bedroom, taking the well-deserved rest he earned. Something clicked inside Enjolras’ brain and he realized. He was afraid to leave Grantaire alone in the same room as Jehan.

                _I’m going to tell him_ , Jehan’s words echoed through his brain, making his heartrate pick up the pace once more. _If you don’t, I will tell him._

Joly had said that the reason they invited everyone there on that night was because Jehan had showed up on their place wanting to talk to Grantaire. Ever since their fight two days before, Enjolras hadn’t heard of or spoken to Jehan. He was probably there to tell Grantaire about the countdown clock.

                All tiredness dissipated from Enjolras’ body as he thought about the implications of that. He was still exhausted, yes, but there was too much fear and adrenaline being shot up to his blood flow for him to even consider the possibility of sleeping on that moment. If Jehan told Grantaire, Grantaire would hate him. _Enjolras_ was the one who needed to tell him – _if_ he ever told him – otherwise his relationship (either romantic or platonic) with Grantaire would be ruined beyond repair. If Jehan told Grantaire, the cynic would never forgive Enjolras. Ever.

                “It’s ok”, Enjolras told his boyfriend, hoping to keep the nervousness from his voice. He hated this situation, he hated having to lie to Grantaire in order to protect him. He knew how upset and depressed Grantaire would be if he found out that his days were counted, and that was the last thing Enjolras ever wanted. He wanted Grantaire to be happy and he would do anything in his power to achieve that. Plus, Grantaire would probably end up self-destructing if he knew that he was doomed to die in three weeks. “R. I’m not that tired. I’m actually feeling a little better”.

                “You were nearly falling on your face while climbing the stairs five minutes ago”, Grantaire raised a cynic eyebrow, giving Enjolras a “I’m-not-buying-it” look. Enjolras sighed.

                “I want to watch the movie with you guys”, Enjolras tried, shoving both hands inside his hoodie’s pockets – no, not his, the hoodie he was wearing was _Grantaire’s_ – and looking up at his boyfriend with something akin to puppy eyes. “Plus, if I get too tired, I can always sleep on your shoulder”, he added. Grantaire studied him for a few seconds, as if trying to detect whether Enjolras was lying or not. He must have decided that he wasn’t, for the cynic’s shoulders relaxed a little and he took a step towards Enjolras, a warm look in his eyes.

                “Are you sure?”, he asked gently. Some part of Enjolras’ brain noted that, before the events that led to his and Grantaire’s relationship, the cynic had never treated Enjolras with such gentleness. He was always teasing Enjolras and making either mean or rude comments about his physical appearance or his idealism. That was probably the reason why Enjolras had never noticed Grantaire’s feelings for him before Jehan told him about them.

                It was nice having Grantaire treating him with gentleness.

                “Yes, I’m sure”, Enjolras smiled. His heart was beating fast with anxiety, but he managed to put sincerity into his smile.

                Holding hands, Grantaire led Enjolras out of his bedroom and back into the living room, where their friends cheered and wolf-whistled at their arrival. Courfeyrac looked like he was about to have a stoke from excitement, and literally squealed when he saw Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s intertwined fingers.

                “They grow up so fast”, he told Bahorel, pretending to wipe away an inexistent tear. Enjolras rolled his eyes at his best friend, walking over to the couch and sitting beside him. Grantaire followed and sat beside Enjolras.

                “So, what movie are we going to watch?”, Grantaire asked, passing an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders. Courfeyrac made a “d’aw” sound, whereas Bahorel rolled his eyes with frustration.

                “Jehan has been trying to decide for nearly an hour now”, Bahorel complained, frustration evident in his voice. “He can’t choose between Moulin Rouge and the Great Gatsby”.

                “It’s like choosing between two children ok?”, Jehan protested from where he was kneeling on the floor, and for the first time since entering the living room, Enjolras dared to look at him. The poet, however, was promptly ignoring the leader, still looking between the two DVDs in his hands.

                “Just… pick one already”, Bahorel sighed, holding his head between two hands.

                “They both have the same director so it’s nearly impossible to choose”, Jehan said with absentmindedness, sticking the tip of his tongue past his lips as he tried to make a decision.

                “Enjolras has never watched Moulin Rouge”, Grantaire commented, tapping his fingers rhythmically against Enjolras’ shoulder. “We could watch that”.

                “How do you know I’ve never watched Moulin Rouge?”, Enjolras frowned, turning his head so that he could face his boyfriend from where he was leaning against his shoulder. Grantaire chuckled.

                “I was dancing to Tanguera today and you didn’t recognize it. You’ve clearly never watched Moulin Rouge”, he shrugged. Enjolras turned his head back to see Jehan staring at him with an odd look.

                “Yeah”, the poet said with a serious, weird expression. “Let’s watch Moulin Rouge”.

                “Yay! I love Moulin Rouge!”, Bossuet exclaimed, high-fiving Musichetta, who was nodding vehemently. Joly, though, had a slightly apprehensive expression.

                “I don’t really like this movie”, he protested. “She coughs too much”.

                “Of course she coughs a lot, she’s dy–“, Bahorel started, but Courfeyrac quickly slammed his hand against the law student’s mouth to prevent him from continuing.

                “Shhhhh don’t spoil the movie!”, Courfeyrac protested.

                “They literally say that on the first five minutes”, Bahorel shoved Courfeyrac’s hand away from his face.

                “Yeah, but Enjolras doesn’t know that she dies… Shit”, Courfeyrac facepalmed, while Bahorel and Grantaire both threw their heads back in a huge laughter. Enjolras ended up smiling, despite of the feeling that Jehan was glaring daggers at him while he wasn’t looking.

                The movie begun and everyone went silent, except for a random comment threw then and there by either Joly or Musichetta, either about tuberculosis and its dangers or about the figurine. Despite being stressed and tired, Enjolras’ attention was caught by the plot, and he ended up shrugging off the looming threat of sleep in order to pay attention to the movie, which was rather interesting. Grantaire begun to caress Enjolras’ curls from where the leader was leaning against his shoulder at some point of the movie, but Enjolras was too caught up in the story to realize it was there. The movie ended, leaving a hollow feeling of frustration inside of Enjolras’ chest. Grantaire must have noticed that from Enjolras’ face, because he leaned back slightly to take a better look at his boyfriend.

                “So, how did you like it?”, he asked tentatively.

                “It was… nice”, Enjolras commented, his voice lacking conviction.

                “Hey. You ok?”, Grantaire asked sympathetically. Enjolras nodded, but there was no sincerity in the gesture. Grantaire raised an eyebrow, making Enjolras turn to face him.

                “Yeah, I’m fine”, Enjolras said half-heartedly.

                “There, there. No need to get all sulky”, Courfeyrac intervened, pulling Enjolras away from Grantaire’s grasp and enveloping the leader in his arms as one would do to a child. “It’s just a movie”.

                “I know it’s just a movie”, Enjolras frowned, trying, in vain, to get away from Courfeyrac’s tight hug.

                “Are you upset because she died?”, Bossuet raised an eyebrow that was mocking even though that wasn’t his intention. Enjolras’ lips formed a thin line.

                “I’m not upset”, Enjolras tried to protest. “I just don’t think it had a very good ending; that’s all”.

                “But you knew that she was going to die from the beginning”, Grantaire said with a confused smile. “Why would you let the outcome upset you?”

                “Why indeed”, Jehan said – the first time he spoke up ever since the beginning of the movie –, giving Enjolras a knowing look that made the leader blush and turn his gaze away. Grantaire let his eyes dart between the poet and his boyfriend before turning back to Enjolras once more.

                “I said I’m not upset”, Enjolras sighed before Grantaire could insist, untangling himself from his Courfeyrac’s arms but staying on the couch. Grantaire tried to read him with a prolonged look.

                “Well, who wants another round of beer?”, Bahorel asked, and Grantaire and Bossuet immediately threw their hands in the air. The tall man got up from his seat and disappeared into the kitchen, quickly returning with three beer cans in hands. Grantaire took a sip from his before turning his attention back to Enjolras.

                “So”, Grantaire begun. “Apart from the fact that her totally predictable death made you uncomfortable, how did you like the movie?”, he asked expectantly.

                “It wasn’t _totally predictable_ ”, Enjolras protested in something akin to childishness, scoffing. “But yes, I liked it. And I recognize the tango you were dancing, now”.

                “Enj, love, they literally said that she was going to die in the beginning of the movie”, Courfeyrac intervened. “It _was very much_ predictable”.

                “I think that Enjolras was hoping that, for some magic reason, Satine wasn’t going to die and all of Christian’s problems would be solved easily”, Jehan commented from where he was sitting on the floor. Enjolras allowed his eyes to find the poet’s, seeing the defiance and disappointment in them. He subconsciously lowered his head, failing to notice how Grantaire’s eyes were once more darting between Enjolras and Jehan, trying to understand what was happening.

                “Aw”, Grantaire settled for saying, pulling Enjolras closer to him. “That’s so cute. I almost forgot you were an incorrigible idealist”, he smiled. Enjolras huffed out an indignant breath.

                “I’m not”, he protested weakly, pretending that Jehan’s glare wasn’t burning holes into his head. “I just thought that this was a cliché love story, that’s all”.

                “And it is”, Grantaire told Enjolras condescendingly, dropping a sloppy kiss on the top of the leader’s head. “Real life has pain in it, and real life is a walking cliché. Not all love stories have a happy ending. Actually, very few do”.

                Somehow that sentence was a punch to Enjolras’ stomach. His lips parted in surprise and his face must have paled and dropped. He was thankful that his head was leaning against Grantaire’s shoulder, thus preventing the cynic from seeing his reaction, but Jehan saw it, of course he did. His eyes were acid and glaring, never ceasing to judge Enjolras from where he was sitting a few feet from him. Even as all blood left Enjolras’ face, he didn’t show a single ounce of sympathy for him, which was terribly unlike Jehan. He was always ready to comfort and help whoever was in need, and for him to treat Enjolras with such dryness and snappiness only showed that he must have been really, really hurt by Enjolras’ actions. Bossuet, Joly, Musichetta and Bahorel were chatting absentmindedly, unaware of the sudden tension that had settled between Enjolras and Jehan. But Grantaire and Courfeyrac were very aware of it, staring at both men in confusion.

                “I should get going”, it was Jehan who finally broke the silence, quietly getting to his feet and putting away the DVD case. Joly protested sadly, asking him to stay for a little further, but Jehan shook his head, apparently unable to meet Enjolras’ eyes now that he had broken eye contact. “I have somethings I need to finish”, Jehan gave a halfhearted excuse that no one bought.

                “I thought you wanted to talk to R?”, Bossuet frowned, making Enjolras’ heart leap. “Isn’t that the reason you first came over?”

                Jehan turned his head and spared Grantaire a long studying look before shaking his head again.

                “We can talk later”, Jehan said, and Enjolras dared to look up at his face. He was giving the leader a weird look, that had something akin to mercy in it. He didn’t have to say the words for Enjolras to understand what that gesture meant. _I am buying you time. I am giving you one last chance to tell Grantaire, or I will be the one to do it._ Enjolras swallowed dry.

                “Wait!”, Courfeyrac called before Jehan could get to the door, jolting to his feet. “I’m going with you!”, he announced, quickly collecting his stuff. He bent over to drop a sloppy kiss against Grantaire’s cheek, and then against Enjolras’. But before he returned to an upright position, Courfeyrac whispered quickly in Enjolras’ ear: “Don’t think that I forgot about the whole story you said you’d tell me. I’ve been texting you like mad and I know you saw it. You have a big explaining to do”, he said in a rushed, serious tone. Before Enjolras could even react, Courfeyrac was already up, a big smile on his face as if he had said nothing of importance to Enjolras, who had grown even more pale. The pair waved their goodbyes in a cheerful tone – though Jehan’s was clearly fake – and then they were gone, making the living room be emerged in a tense silence that made Enjolras look around, uncomfortable.

                “So”, Grantaire started, raising both eyebrows. “What the fuck was _that_ about?”, he asked, laughing.

                “W-what do you mean?”, Enjolras asked, trying to prevent his nervousness from showing in his face.

                “What did you do to Jehan?”, Grantaire frowned, even though there was still a hint of a smile in his lips. His face dropped into a scolding expression. “Did you insult his poetry? Because you know how he is, if you did, he’ll keep giving you the cold shoulder until you apologize. It accidentally happened to me once”.

                “I…”, Enjolras swallowed dry. “I don’t follow?”

                “He’s clearly mad at you”, Musichetta commented with a questioning look, eyebrow raised.

                “Yeah”, Bahorel took a gulp of his beer. “Even I noticed, and you all know that I don’t give a crap”.

                “Of course you don’t”, Bossuet said with irony, rolling his eyes.

                “I didn’t… do anything”, Enjolras bit his lower lip, not meeting any of his friends’ eyes. “We… just had a small… discussion, that’s all. We’ll be fine”, he added, sounding like he was trying to convince himself, rather than his friends.

                “Whatever it was, just apologize”, Joly suggested with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Jehan is very sensitive, and as gentle and kind as he is, he also doesn’t forgive very easily when it comes to personal attacks. I think he’s a Scorpio?”

                “No, man, he’s a Libra”, Bossuet intervened with an offended look. “But I think his ascendant may be in Scorpio?”

                “When is his birthday?”, Musichetta asked, fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Let me do his astral map”.

                “Well, I ain’t got the time for this bull crap”, Bahorel said, getting to his feet. “Since I don’t want to be a third… no, fourth… no, fifth wheel, I’ll be on my way. See you tomorrow, my dudes”, he waved his goodbye. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta shared a look.

                “Is he a Taurus or a Capricorn?”, Musichetta asked. The trio fell into a heated discussion about zodiac signs after Bahorel left, making Enjolras and Grantaire share a look.

                “Maybe I should go home?”, Enjolras said, hesitant, not knowing whether he should stay or not. Grantaire smiled at him, finishing his beer before speaking.

                “Don’t you want to stay?”, he offered.

                “I don’t want to bother”, Enjolras admitted shyly, pushing his curls gently behind his ear.

                “You won’t”, Grantaire frowned as if that was obvious. “Of course you won’t. But if you _really_ don’t want to stay, I suppose I can walk you home”, he shrugged with something akin to disappointment.

                “I… well…”, Enjolras stuttered, embarrassed. He _wanted_ to stay. He wanted to have a nice, unbroken night of sleep for a change. “Maybe I could help you with those nightmares you said you have?”, he offered, clearly embarrassed. Grantaire smiled from ear to ear.

                “Maybe I can help you with your insomnia in exchange?”, Grantaire jested, prodding at Enjolras playfully with his elbow. Enjolras returned his smile. He didn’t even have to say anything before Grantaire took Enjolras hand, pulling him from the couch. The arguing trio didn’t even hear or respond when Grantaire shouted their goodnights over his shoulder, too emerged into the discussion about signs to give the pair any attention. Grantaire closed his bedroom door behind him and turned his lamp on, gesturing for Enjolras to sit on the bed.

                “Take your jeans off”, Grantaire instructed absentmindedly, searching his drawer for something, and Enjolras immediately blushed, eyes widening. He hadn’t been planning… _that_. He… he thought they were just going to sleep together, in the most literal meaning of the phrase. He hadn’t expected that Grantaire would want… sex? So soon in their relationship. He didn’t even know if he was ready for that! Grantaire looked at Enjolras’ frozen form with confusion, before his own eyes widened and he blushed himself. “Oh,  no, no, no, not like that!”, Grantaire immediately explained, raising a pair of sweatpants with one hand. “I… I just thought you’d be more comfortable in these. There’s no way those pants you’re wearing are comfortable to sleep, no offense”.

                “None taken”, Enjolras said, face red, reaching out to grab the pants Grantaire was offering. Grantaire stared at him for a few seconds, as if waiting for Enjolras to say something. Enjolras merely stared back, holding the sweatpants. What was he supposed to do? Strip shamelessly in front of Grantaire? He couldn’t do that, he… he couldn’t do that yet. Grantaire took a few more seconds to realize the source of Enjolras’ embarrassment, before letting out a blurted “oh!” of surprise and turning on his back, giving Enjolras privacy to change clothes.

                “Sorry”, Grantaire said, taking Enjolras’ jeans and putting it away neatly inside his drawer. “I’m just too used to changing clothes literally anywhere, and I forget that some people don’t like that”, he chuckled nervously.

                “It’s ok”, Enjolras smiled, standing awkwardly by the bed. In a distant thought, he realized that he would have probably preferred if Grantaire had been drunk. At least, the awkwardness between them would be remembered by Enjolras, only.

                “Oh, you can lie down”, Grantaire offered, taking his own jeans off. Enjolras politely looked away, even though he had… already seen Grantaire naked when the cynic took a shower in his house. Shit. Images of a naked Grantaire – of Grantaire’s _dick, oh no oh no oh no_ – flooded his mind and Enjolras panicked, trying to think of anything, anything that took the image away from his head before he could so something stupid as getting aroused in Grantaire’s bed. He ended up thinking about fluffy dogs as he lied down on his side on Grantaire’s bed, back turned to the cynic. He suddenly remembered that Brownie was all by himself in the apartment, and in a wave of panic, grabbed his so far forgotten phone to send an emergency text to Combeferre.

                He opened the texting app to find an unread message from his best friend. It was a picture of Combeferre in Enjolras’ apartment, Brownie in his lap, and a little paper plaque hanging from the puppy’s neck that read: “I have an awful dad and a great uncle”. Enjolras couldn’t prevent a relieved smile and texted his gratefulness to Combeferre.

                “So”, Grantaire said, climbing the bed behind Enjolras’. He seemed to hesitate for a few moments before spooning the leader and passing a hand around his chest as if to pull him closer. Enjolras unconsciously allowed himself to sink back against Grantaire. “How did you like today, apart from all the stress, panic attacks and disappointing movies?”

                Enjolras chuckled. It _had_ been a full day, hadn’t it? He had learned the basic steps of how to dance tango mere hours before but it already felt like a lifetime ago.

                “It was great”, he said with a content sigh. “Except for all the panic attack thing”.

                “I’m sorry”, Grantaire murmured against Enjolras’ neck, tickling the skin.

                “It wasn’t your fault”, Enjolras frowned.

                “Well, if I hadn’t been stupid and frozen after you professed your love for me, you wouldn’t have panicked”, he shrugged. Enjolras untangled himself from Grantaire’s arm and turned to face him.

                “Confessed”, he corrected seriously.

                “Hm?”

                “Confessed. Not professed. Professing has an undertone of fakeness beneath it”, Enjolras said, slightly offended. “And there is nothing fake about my feelings for you”.

                Grantaire’s eyes could have sparkled if the room hadn’t been so dark. Still, Enjolras could feel his face change.

                “Right. Confessed”, Grantaire corrected himself with a smile to Enjolras. “You’re so smart”.

                “So are you”, Enjolras placed a kiss against Grantaire’s cheek, turning back on his side and sinking against Grantaire’s body spooning him. Despite of Grantaire’s comment, something inside Enjolras told him that he had chosen the words very carefully as if to test Enjolras.

                “I should let you sleep. You’re clearly tired”, Grantaire commented, placing a kiss on the back of Enjolras’ neck.

                “Hm”, Enjolras hummed. “But so are you”.

                “That’s true”, Grantaire said. “Are you going to tell me what happened between Jehan and you?”, he added after a small pause. He probably felt Enjolras’ body tighten beneath his arm, for he quickly chuckled and added: “Fine, fine. You don’t have to”.

                “Well… it’s…”, Enjolras hesitated. Grantaire caressed his arm.

                “Go to sleep, Enj”, Grantaire told him patiently, snuggling closer to him. “Good night”.

                Enjolras hesitated. He hesitated for seconds that felt like a lifetime.

                “I love you”, Grantaire ended up saying it first, and Enjolras relaxed beneath his touch.

                “I love you too, R”, Enjolras responded, feeling like at least one of the weights in his heart had been lifted, even if just for a while.


	10. Chapter 10

 

                When Enjolras woke up, the bed beside him was empty.

                It took a few seconds of sluggish confusion for him to realize that he wasn’t in his bedroom, and that there should be someone sleeping beside him. Enjolras jolted out of the bed and got to his feet when he realized that this someone was supposed to be Grantaire. Where was he? What had happened? Why wasn’t he beside Enjolras on the bed? Where did he go? Was he ok?

                Before Enjolras could even get into action, frozen on his feet and looking around the room in confusion as he was, the door of the bedroom opened slightly and a familiar mop of dark curls appeared from beneath it, carefully and silently looking into the room as if searching for something. The greyish eyes widened as Grantaire saw Enjolras standing in the middle of the room, looking frightened, and he opened the door further so that he could enter the room and walk over to his boyfriend.

                “Hey”, Grantaire said with a smile that faltered slightly when he saw the way Enjolras was breathing heavily. “You ok?”, he asked with a hint of a frown in his brow. Enjolras lowered his head, embarrassed with his overreaction to Grantaire’s absence. God. He couldn’t be this dependent on someone else, he couldn’t… _freak out_ every time Grantaire got out of his sight. It wasn’t as if Grantaire would drop dead as soon as Enjolras took his eyes off him.

_Well, not yet, at least._

                “Yes”, Enjolras said, swallowing dry and allowing himself to be enveloped by Grantaire’s arms when the man pulled him into a soft hug. Grantaire smelled of coffee and the ever-present faint scent of alcohol. “Sorry”, Enjolras added, already knowing that Grantaire would be curious as to why he was standing terrified in the middle of the room. “I forgot where I was for a second”.

                “It’s ok”, Grantaire broke the hug so that he could look at Enjolras’ face, two fingers raising to caress Enjolras’ cheek. “You’re in my bedroom”.

                “I know”, Enjolras smiled lightly, and then couldn’t prevent a yawn, covering his wide mouth with one hand.

                “Sleep well?”, Grantaire asked, squeezing Enjolras’ shoulder.

                “Yes”, Enjolras admitted with a lazy sigh. “In fact, I don’t remember ever sleeping this well in a while. Do you have any coffee?”, he asked, stretching his arms and back. His shoulders were a little sore from staying in the same position for hours. Enjolras was the kind of person that needed coffee as soon as he woke up, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to properly function throughout the day. His brain felt sluggish and slow without the caffeine to boost it up.

                “Yeah, Bossuet made some earlier. I saved it for you”, Grantaire said. “Figured you _had_ to be a coffee person, from the way you keep pulling all-nighters”.

                “I suppose I can’t deny that”, Enjolras yawned again, following Grantaire out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Neither of the other habitants of the house were there, but it took Enjolras a few minutes of blinking sleep away and drinking coffee to finally realize that. “Where are Joly and Bossuet?”

                “Joly has already left for his shift at the hospital and Bossuet is at uni”, Grantaire explained absentmindedly, pouring a mug of coffee for himself and adding something from a small flask that Enjolras didn’t recognize, but he was almost sure that it contained alcohol. He didn’t bother pretending that he approved – Grantaire drunk too much for his own good – and put on a grumpy expression before pouring himself a second mug of coffee.

                “I didn’t know Bossuet still went to uni”, Enjolras commented, a little less dryly than he had intended. Wasn’t it too early for Grantaire to be drinking already?

                “Oh, he shouldn’t have to”, Grantaire shrugged, sipping from his own mug and wincing slightly at the taste. “He should have graduated already. But last semester he failed a class because he kept answering other people’s names during the roll calls. Something about saving their asses from flunking or something. And then _he_ ended up flunking himself”, Grantaire scoffed. “Now he has to go to Uni every now and then just to take that single class. It’s the only thing keeping him from graduating already. Unlucky bastard”, Grantaire smirked, downing the rest of his mug with one single gulp. Enjolras watched with a disapproving expression. “What about you?”, Grantaire asked, setting his mug down on the table and pretending he didn’t notice the way Enjolras was staring at him.

                “What about me?”, Enjolras frowned, confused.

                “Well? Did you finish your beloved poli-sci school already?”, Grantaire smiled.

                “Yes”, Enjolras played idly with the mug in his hands, staring at it. “I graduated last year”.

                “And are you working?”, Grantaire asked. Enjolras looked up at him questioningly. “Well”, Grantaire added with a shrug. “I figured you would need to be working, you know, to pay that big, fancy apartment of yours”, he teased. “But I don’t ever see you wearing business clothes, and you’re always at home when I look for you”.

                “The apartment isn’t big”, Enjolras frowned. “Or fancy. But no, I’m not working”, he admitted with some level of embarrassment. “I got fired from my last job due to… _discrepancies of opinion_ with my boss”, Enjolras scowled at the memory.

                Grantaire gave him a curious, shit-eating grin.

                “Did you yell communist propaganda at him?”, Grantaire asked.

                “No”, Enjolras denied, but the denial sounded fake to his own ears.

                “Well, that was a scene I would have _loved_ to see”, Grantaire chuckled. “You _totally not_ yelling Marxist ideals at your ex-boss in front of everyone”.

                “Oh, shut up”, Enjolras tried to prevent himself from smiling, but failed. He went back to playing with the mug in his hand instead.

                “So how do you afford your place?”, Grantaire continued with curiosity. “Since you’re not working or anything”.

                Enjolras sighed. This wasn’t a subject he particularly enjoyed discussing. But he had already been keeping so much from Grantaire. It only felt fair to share this aspect of his life with him, as much as Enjolras didn’t like that idea. Plus, Grantaire was his boyfriend now, wasn’t he? He would have to know about Enjolras’ backstory at some point.

                “My father sends me a monthly allowance”, Enjolras shrugged. “I give half of it to charity, and use the other half to pay for my basic needs”. He could feel himself blushing already. What would Grantaire say? He had never skipped a chance to mock Enjolras, always calling him rich and bourgeois at every given opportunity. Enjolras knew he had probably signed his own death sentence on the moment he told Grantaire that the received money from his father instead of working.

                “I thought you didn’t get along with your father”, Grantaire commented simply, making Enjolras look up. He had expected some sort of teasing, or mockery. After blinking dumbly at his boyfriend for a few moments, he recomposed himself.

                “I don’t, actually”, Enjolras shrugged. “After I ran away from home, he disinherited me and I didn’t see or spoke to him and my mother for years. I strayed from inn to inn until I finally gave up and allowed Combeferre to take me in. That’s when we founded the ABC; it was a project of ours that dated years back. I struggled to finish my education, and I barely had time to do anything activism-related back then, but the little I did must have called father’s attention, because he came looking for me after three years of silence and tried to talk me out of it once again”, Enjolras scoffed, not meeting Grantaire’s eyes. This was an intimate story that he had shared with very few people. “I didn’t give in, of course, but he must have been somewhat displeased with the condition I was living in, because the next thing I know when I get to uni is that he had paid for my college debts. Not much later, I started receiving a monthly allowance”, Enjolras lowered his head. “At first, I didn’t want to accept it and sent it back but… Well. I never paid Combeferre any sort of rent, I never helped with the house expenses, I… never aided him financially. And Courfeyrac lived with us too, and I could see how heavy it was for Ferre to sustain the house all by himself. Courfeyrac and I used all the money we got with our internships to pay for our college fees, and even that wasn’t near enough. Combeferre was the only one sustaining the house, and that wasn’t exactly fair to him. So, I _had_ to take my father’s money, as much as I hated that. I helped Ferre until I had enough to move out myself, and rented the apartment I live in today. Unfortunately, I lost my job, which was my main source of money, so for the time being I have to make do with the dirty money father sends me. I don’t want to bother Combeferre again”, Enjolras finished the story with a sigh. “And my apartment is a lot cheaper than it looks”, he added after a few seconds of silence, just to make a point.

                Grantaire stared at Enjolras for a long while, taking in the information the leader had just shared with a pensive expression. He didn’t tell Enjolras that he was sorry, or attempted to offer him any sort of comfort. For that, Enjolras was grateful: he hated the pitying looks and the negative attention he usually got from talking about his family. It felt like ages of heavy silence between Grantaire finally spoke up.

                “My dad met my mom in a trip to Brazil”, Grantaire started, not meeting Enjolras’ eyes as well. “They met during Carnival, which kind of explains why she got pregnant so fast. He had already decided to leave Argentina and try life in another country, and she had nothing that tied her to Brazil anyways. So they left, originally for the US, but then they changed their mind in the last second and decided to try France because why not? Then my mom found out she was pregnant, and they weren’t getting anywhere closer to finding a good job or making any money at all. My dad left her on her own”, Grantaire shrugged.

                “That’s awful”, Enjolras commented with sincerity. “I’m sorry, R”.

                “Nah”, Grantaire shrugged, but he looked upset. “She wasn’t a very good mother anyway. Never gave a crap about me. It took me a while to figure out I reminded her too much of my father for her to like me. She never forgave him for leaving her”, he said with something akin to grief in his tone. “She died when I was 12. Then I went to Brazil, because my grandmother lived there and she was the only family I had left. Those were probably the only years of my life that were kind of worth it, to be honest”, Grantaire shrugged again. “But then she died, and I was 15, with no money, job or family. I only had basic education, hadn’t finished high school and knew 0 people in Brazil. I was desperate. And for some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to look for my dad”, he said with a scornful, humorless smile. Enjolras watched with a sad expression. “Turns out it wasn’t”, he trailed off.

                A few tense seconds of Grantaire staring at his own hands passed.

                “And then what happened?”, Enjolras asked silently, hoping not to pressure Grantaire too far. The cynic finally looked up to meet Enjolras’ eyes.

                “I’m right here, ain’t I?”, Grantaire asked with suppressed sadness. “I survived”, he added with a smaller voice.

                “Oh, R”, Enjolras said, sympathetic, and outstretched a hand to grab hold of Grantaire’s and squeeze. Grantaire squeezed back, but his head dropped. His eyes were somewhat glassy.

                “I’ve always felt like the odd one out”, Grantaire admitted, eyes never meeting Enjolras’. “They never wanted to have me, which is probably why I’ve felt so… _unwanted_ , all my life. When I was a kid, I never understood why my parents didn’t love me. But I think I get it now”, he sniffed. “I tried to call her attention by messing up, by being a piece of shit at school and making the teachers call her over. It never really worked, but I think I got used to messing up as a way to call attention”, he shrugged with a humorless smile, meeting Enjolras’ eyes and winking. “And shit, I’m messing up right now, ruining a perfectly nice breakfast with my whining. I shouldn’t have put vodka in the coffee”, he tilted his mug slightly to stare at its contents, as if they had personally offended him.

                “You shouldn’t”, Enjolras agreed, slowly getting up from his seat and walking over to where Grantaire was sitting directly in front of him. “But you’re not whining. I am honored that you are sharing this with me”, Enjolras said, slowly untangling his fingers from Grantaire’s and sitting on his lap. He passed his arms around Grantaire’s neck in some sort of sideways hug, leaning his cheek against the top of Grantaire’s head. “I’m sorry that you had to go through this. You are not unwanted. You are loved”, he dropped a kiss against Grantaire’a unruly curls.

                “Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about how my existence is due to an accident”, Grantaire whispered. “How everything on my life is. My death will probably be an accident, too”.

                Enjolras’ heart stopped.

                “Don’t say that”, Enjolras said, past the knot in his throat. He planted a kiss on the top of Grantaire’s head, thankful that the cynic couldn’t see his face from the position he was sat on his lap, and only hoping that Grantaire couldn’t hear the frantic beating of his heart. “Don’t say that”, Enjolras repeated. What else could he say? He was at a loss for words. Leave it to Grantaire to steal the eloquence out of his lips.

                “I’m sorry”, Grantaire chuckled, rubbing at his eyes with both hands and proceeding to pull Enjolras closer towards him. “I’m killing the mood”.

                “Don’t apologize”, Enjolras placed another nervous kiss against Grantaire’s forehead. “You can tell me whatever you want”.

                “And so can you”, Grantaire said, finally raising his head towards Enjolras and kissing his shoulder blade. “I love you, Enjolras”.

                “I love you too, R”, Enjolras smiled.

                “It’s nice”, Grantaire sighed, leaning his cheek against Enjolras’ shoulder.

                “What is?” Enjolras asked gently, caressing soothing circular patterns against Grantaire’s back.

                “This”, Grantaire smiled, placing another kiss against Enjolras’ shoulder. “Being here, with you. Talking about our shitty pasts. Realizing you’re more human than I used to think”.

                Enjolras leaned slightly back, so that he could look at his boyfriend in the face. He traced his fingertip across Grantaire’s cheek.

                “I am no god”, Enjolras told him. He gently took one of Grantaire’s hands into his, leading it towards his chest. He placed the splayed hand against the top of his frantic heart, holding it in place with his own. “I am just human. I’m not Apollo. I am Enjolras”, he whispered. Grantaire watched him with eyes that could have sparkled in the soft light of the kitchen.

                “I know”, Grantaire finally said, fingers clutching to the fabric of Enjolras’ shirt. “I know this now”.

                “I make mistakes”, Enjolras continued, but he didn’t exactly know why. Maybe he should have stayed quiet, instead of trying to justify himself for something that Grantaire wasn’t even aware of. “I make wrong decisions. I say things that I regret”, he placed his spare hand on the top of Grantaire’s chest, feeling the man’s heartbeat beneath his palm in exchange. “As much as you think that I am made of marble, I feel”, he leaned forward, burying his nose against the point where Grantaire’s neck joined his shoulder. “I feel things so intensely”, he admitted. “I don’t know how to find a middle point. Neutrality is something that I have never known. I either care too much or not at all”.

                “I know”, Grantaire breathed out, eyelids slipping shut.

                “I feel anger. And passion. And love. I feel”, Enjolras sighed. “I feel a lot. I am not made of stone, I’m not unattainable. I am made of flesh and bone”.

                “I know”, Grantaire repeated, placing a kiss on the bone behind Enjolras’ ear.

                “Please don’t turn me into something I am not”, Enjolras asked, enjoying the sensation of warmth and compatible electricity between his skin and Grantaire’s. “Don’t turn me into an Apollo”.

                “Ok”, Grantaire said, running a hand across Enjolras’ back as they hugged. “I won’t. You’re Enjolras. You’re as pretty as a fucking greek god, but you’re Enjolras”, he chuckled, and Enjolras chuckled back.

                “You two are so cute”, a female voice said, and they both tried to raise their heads at the exact same time, making them accidentally bump their foreheads against each other’s. Rubbing a hand against the sore spot on his brow, Enjolras saw a smug looking Musichetta with her arms crossed on the top of her chest, wearing nothing other than panties and a crop top. Enjolras blushed, climbing out of Grantaire’s lap, and Grantaire cleared his throat, also rubbing at his forehead.

                “I thought you had left for work”, Grantaire commented. Enjolras grabbed their mugs and took them to the sink, just so that he had an excuse to do something instead of looking at the smudge expression on Musichetta’s face. He didn’t bother being seen exchanging caresses with Grantaire, but they had been talking about an intimate subject that Enjolras wouldn’t have discussed had he known that they weren’t alone. In order to have a healthy relationship with Grantaire, the cynic would have to stop idealizing Enjolras.

                “Nah, today is Monday, Capital R”, Musichetta said playfully, passing by Enjolras and grabbing herself her own mug. Enjolras made sure not to stare anywhere below her lower waist, and ended up staring at the ceiling instead. “I only take the night shift in the Musain today”.

                “Oh right”, Grantaire threw his hair back with one hand. “Wait. So you’ve been here locked in the bedroom this whole time?”

                “I was sleeping”, she explained as if the information was obvious. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell Joly that you two were almost having nasty kitchen sex on his favorite table”, Musichetta teased, winking at Enjolras, who blushed, before pouring herself some coffee.

                “We weren’t… we didn’t…”, Enjolras started, nearly dropping the mug that he was drying, but Musichetta gave him a roaring laugh.

                “I know, pretty boy, I’m just teasing you”, she reassured him, taking a sip off her ow mug. “By the way, I think I heard your phone ringing in the bedroom”.

                “Oh”, Enjolras said, resuming the drying of the mugs and setting them on the sink with something akin to relief. “I’ll… be right back, then”, he awkwardly dried his hands on the sweatpants he was wearing – Grantaire’s sweatpants – and, after sending a nervous and quick glance towards the cynic’s general direction, he made his way back to the bedroom. There, he found his phone beside the pillow he had slept with, and there were indeed two missed calls from Combeferre. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Enjolras dialed his best friend’s number.

                “Enjolras?”, Combeferre picked up after two rings, and the clear nervousness in his tone was enough to send Enjolras into full-alert mode.

                “Ferre? What is it?”, Enjolras immediately asked, tensing up. His grip on the device grew tighter.

                “Where are you?”, Combeferre asked, sounding as if he was trying to recompose himself.

                “I’m at Grantaire’s, why? What happened?”, Enjolras asked, frantic.

                “You need to come back home. Now”, Combeferre instructed. Enjolras heard some movement on the door of the room but didn’t bother to look up, too worried about Combeferre’s tone of voice to pay attention on anything else.

                “What’s going on? Are you ok?”, Enjolras asked nervously, biting at his thumb.

                “Yes, I’m ok, everyone is ok”, Combeferre tried to reassure Enjolras, sighing as if realizing that he had made a poor choice of words. “But I really need you to come home. We shouldn’t discuss this over the phone”.

                Grantaire placed a comforting hand against Enjolras’ shoulder, a worried frown on his face. Enjolras looked up for a fraction of a second before staring back down at his feet. If this problem Combeferre wanted to discuss had to do with the countdown, then Enjolras wouldn’t be able to ask his friend about it with Grantaire beside him. Therefore, he took in a deep breath and told Combeferre:

                “Alright. I am on my way”.

                “What happened?”, Grantaire asked as soon as Enjolras hung up.

                “I don’t know”, Enjolras admitted, throwing his phone on the pillow and reaching for his tight pants that were folded on the floor beside the bed. He didn’t even put any thought into the fact that Grantaire was there, right beside him and _watching him_ , when he begun stripping out of the leant sweater pants and into his jeans. All that was in his mind was the fact that Combeferre had called him, begging him to go home, which was something his friend would never do unless something really serious had happened. Combeferre was usually a well-composed, thoughtful man, who only lost his temper when it came to Enjolras’ well-being. Whether this matter regarded the countdown or not, Enjolras needed to get home immediately. He buttoned his pants and grabbed his phone, frantically searching for his shoes.

                “Enjolras?”, Grantaire called, confused. “What’s the matter?”

                “I don’t know, R”, Enjolras said absentmindedly, finding his shoes and grabbing hold of them. “Ferre called me, asking to go back to mine immediately; he would have never done that unless it was something very serious which means I need to go”, Enjolras resumed lacing his shoes and stood in front of Grantaire. “I’m really sorry to barge out like this”, he told the man with a sincere apologetic expression. “But I’ll see you later at the meeting?”

                “Alright”, Grantaire said, confusion never leaving his face, not even when Enjolras got on his tiptoes and stole a quick kiss from the cynic’s lips. “Let me know you’re safe?”, Grantaire hesitated.

                “Sure. Again, I’m really sorry”, Enjolras said, giving Grantaire another apologetic look as he walked out of the bedroom towards the front door with hurried steps. Musichetta gave him a questioning look as he went, but Enjolras didn’t have the time to explain – he only hoped Grantaire would do that for him. He shouted a rushed “bye, Chetta!”, over his shoulder, allowing Grantaire to open the door for him, before he was running down the apartment building’s stairs like a mad man. He had no time to waste. Combeferre needed him back there, which meant Enjolras needed to go as fast as possible.

                He got to his own building in half of the time that would have usually taken him, and he was panting by the time he finally arrived at his front door. Twisting the doorknob with some difficulty due to the sweatiness of his hand, Enjolras barged into his place, finding Combeferre leaning forwards on the couch, one of his feet tapping an unrhythmical pattern on the floor, and Courfeyrac beside him with his phone raised to his ear, talking lowly and in a rushed tone. They were both staring intensively at the TV screen in front of them, a lot of papers scattered around the room. Combeferre raised his head as soon as Enjolras stepped in, immediately getting to his feet and walking over to his friend.

                “What happened?”, Enjolras panted, allowing Combeferre to guide him towards the kitchen and fetch him a glass of water.

                “Something really, really serious that demands our immediate attention”, Combeferre said, pouring the water in the glass and handing it over to Enjolras. “I need to know if you’re ready to take these news”.

                “For goodness’s sake, Combeferre, just say it already!”, Enjolras snapped, voice raising an octave, feeling nervous and anxious. Combeferre took in a deep breath and straightened his glasses before speaking up.

                “They just announced on the news that there is a law project to be voted by the Congress on Tuesday”, Combeferre said, and despite of the calmness in his tone of voice, his face looked troubled. “They are planning a freezing of social spending that will last for an undetermined amount of time”.

                There was the slightest of pauses, in which Enjolras’ brain gathered that information and tried to make sense of it.

                “ _What?_ ”, Enjolras finally blurted out, more loudly than he had intended. “Where the hell did that come from?”

                “We don’t know yet”, Combeferre shook his head and sighed. “That’s what Courf is trying to find out”.

                “That doesn’t make _any sense_ ”, Enjolras set the glass he was holding against the table with more strength than necessary. “No sense at all! Are they mad? They can’t take away a right people have fought so hard to be given! They can’t expect us to just take that without putting up a fight! That’s something impossible even to think about, what do they think they’re doing?”

                “Exactly. I think that’s precisely the problem. No one ever saw something this ridiculous coming, so no one considered ways for preventing it. This was a low blow. The Congress will be voting this actual law, and from the way that more right-winged conservatives have been dominating the seats, we may have an actual situation in our hands”.

                “Oh my god”, Enjolras said, feeling the anger and frustration bottling up inside his chest. He was about to lose it any second now. Cutting social expenses? What were they thinking! This was a gigantic regress to the country and an outrage for its population. Enjolras wanted to break the glass on the table in front of him, but tightened his hands into fists instead, aware of the mess he’d end up making. This was outrageous. This was ridiculous. This was –

                “Enjolras”, Combeferre shook his arm. “Are you listening to me?”

                “What?”, Enjolras snapped without meaning to. His face was probably red due to all the anger he was feeling.

                “We have to do something about it”, Combeferre repeated himself, placing a calming hand against Enjolras’ shoulder at the same time Courfeyrac emerged from the living room, phone still in hands.

                “Alright. Thank you. I’ll be in touch”, he told the caller before hanging up and setting the device on the table in front of them with a loud clack. He sighed, climbing the seat beside Enjolras’ standing form and holding his head with both hands. “This is legit. They’re going to vote for it”, he told the pair with resignation. “Apparently, they claim that the country doesn’t have enough money to spend on public expenses, and instead of, oh, I don’t know, decrease the deputies’ salary, they’re taking money off the public budget! ”, Courfeyrac exclaimed, sounding furious. He looked up at Enjolras with seriousness. “We have to do something about this”.

                Enjolras’ lips formed a thin line and he stood up straighter, taking a deep breath and trying to regain his composure. He spent a few seconds in silence trying to think, but his friends’ eyes on him were too strong and expecting.

                “Fine”, he sighed, sitting back down on the chair beside Courfeyrac and splaying his hands on the surface of his kitchen table. “We still have several hours until the daily meeting, which means we’ll have time to think about a solution for this”, he announced, but Combeferre frowned at him.

                “Enjolras, the meeting is in two hours”, the guide said, making Enjolras’ mimic his frown.

                “What?”, Enjolras asked, confused.

                “It’s five p.m. now”, Courfeyrac said in a serious tone that unsettled something inside Enjolras’ stomach. He’d normally tease Enjolras for spending the night with Grantaire, but the seriousness of the situation was too alarming for even Courfeyrac to bother trying to diffuse the tension. Enjolras gave Combeferre a questioning look, and his friend nodded.

                He had slept almost the whole afternoon away. Was that why he was feeling so unusually well rested? Had a single night with Grantaire been able to cure weeks of sleep deprivation?

                “Alright”, Enjolras said, trying not to allow his surprise to show in his voice. “We still have two hours to figure something out”.

                “There’s nothing to figure out, Enjolras”, Courfeyrac scoffed, in a tone that sounded as if he thought Enjolras to be mad. “There’s only one solution to this”.

                Enjolras turned his head to look at his friend with a questioning look. Courfeyrac stared back at him as if he had grown a second head, eyes squinting in a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

                “God, what’s been up with you?”, Courfeyrac snapped, clearly stressed. “We need to make a huge ass protest, isn’t this obvious?”

                Enjolras stared back at Courfeyrac, lips slightly parted as he took in the weight of his friend’s words. He was right, wasn’t he? The only chance they had of stopping this law from ever passing was to protest against it. The voting would be on the following day; there was no time for them to try to solve things pacifically or through petitions. There was no time even to _prepare properly_. They would _have_ to protest. But just hearing the word was enough to send flashbacks of smoke and screaming and chaos into Enjolras’ head, images of a bleeding Grantaire flooding his head mercilessly. Courfeyrac seemed to be very displeased with Enjolras’ silence, for he stood up from the chair abruptly and walked around the table so that he could stand directly in front of Enjolras, slamming his hands on the surface with violence and not breaking eye contact with the leader.

                “Ok, you’ll listen to me now”, Courfeyrac said, slapping away Combeferre’s hand that was trying to calm him down and hunching over the table. His nose was mere inches away from Enjolras’. Courfeyrac was basically fuming with anger, a deep hurt that Enjolras had rarely seen in his friend’s face appearing inside his eyes. “You’ve been ignoring me for over a week. I’ve been calling you, texting you, _reaching out_ for you, because you’re my fucking best friend and I wanted to know what the _hell_ is going on in your life, to make you act all frightened and worried like you’ve been acting”, Courfeyrac took a deep breath, and Enjolras could feel himself blush. It was true. Courfeyrac was his best friend and he had shut him out of his life in a critical moment. It was unfair, and he had all right to be upset. “But you didn’t return any of my calls. You didn’t answer my texts. You’ve barely even _looked me in the eye_ for the past week, and then I hear from Joly – not you, not Combeferre, not even Grantaire himself, _Joly_! Joly is the one to fucking tell me that you and Grantaire are dating officially!”

                “Courf –“, Combeferre tried to intervene, but Courfeyrac just raised a finger at him, without even bothering to look at his friend.

                “No”, Courfeyrac snapped. “I won’t have this conversation with you now. You shut me out too, and I’m tired of pretending that I’m not really fucking hurt by the way the both of you have been treating me lately ok?”, there was a small pause in which Courfeyrac just lowered and shook his head. Enjolras watched with guilty eyes. “I don’t know what I did wrong for you guys to pretend I don’t exist like this, but I just want to understand. I’ve been reaching out for you”, he looked at Enjolras, “because I wanted to know what is up with you, and why you didn’t tell me anything. There’s something wrong, Enjolras, I’ve known you for as long as I can remember and I can tell. You didn’t even _consider_ the possibility of making a protest until I spelled it out for you, so I need you to tell me what _the hell_ is going on because I am really fucking worried”.

                Enjolras stared up at Courfeyrac with sad, pleading eyes. His friend’s face was red from anger, whereas Enjolras’ face had paled from fear and shame. He exchanged a quick glance with Combeferre, who was standing behind Courfeyrac’s bent over form, and the guide’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. Enjolras could no longer postpone telling Courfeyrac the truth. This was practically suicide, but his friend deserved to know. Enjolras feared losing Grantaire, and he had already told Jehan – big mistake –, but Courfeyrac was one of the closest people to him and it wasn’t right that Enjolras kept shutting him off of his life like that.

                Enjolras took a deep, preparing breath, heart thumping painfully inside his chest, and closed his eyes before saying, voice full of grief and regret:

                “You’re going to need to sit down for this”.

-

                Courfeyrac stared blankly at Enjolras for a few seconds after the leader finished speaking. It didn’t take him long to squint his eyes in confusion and disbelief, turning his head so that he could look up at Combeferre for confirmation. The guide merely nodded at him, and Courfeyrac turned back to Enjolras, eyes still squinting and brow furrowing. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak something, but his lips quickly shut close once more, and this went on for several moments, making him look like a suspicious fish.

                A tense silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity before Courfeyrac finally found the words he had been looking for.

                “What the fuck?”, he asked, mustering as much confusion as he could into his voice.

                “I know”, Enjolras sighed and lowered his head, emotionally exhausted for having to go over that whole story again. Couldn’t he spend a single day of his life without being reminded of Grantaire’s imminent death?

                “No, I mean, what the actual fuck?”, Courfeyrac continued, a look of sheer dumbfoundedness in his face. He looked up at Combeferre again, as if hoping that the man would be able to help him understand, somehow. Combeferre sent him an apologetic look, shrugging.

                “We are not any closer to a solution”, Combeferre stepped in, tone calm and patient. “Both Enjolras and I are very aware of how impossible this whole story sounds, which is why Enjolras didn’t tell you before. He feared you wouldn’t believe him”.

                Courfeyrac gaped for a few more moments, blinking dumbly as if trying to recompose himself.

                “For real, this is a lot to take in”, he settled for saying, shaking his head slightly. “And, I mean, a real fucking lot. It’s… it’s just… impossible”, he sighed, but then he saw Enjolras’ grim expression. “But Enjolras would never play about something as serious as this”, he added. “So he either is lunatic or telling the truth, and despite your behavior during the past weeks, you don’t look exactly lunatic to me”, he sighed.

                “Thank you”, Enjolras responded, in a tone that couldn’t be qualified as sarcastic or sincere.

                “Don’t think I’m no longer mad at you for not telling me”, Courfeyrac added, pointing Enjolras with a hurt look that made the leader lower his eyes in embarrassment. “Shutting me out like that, after everything we went through… it hurt my feelings”.      

                “I’m sorry, Courf”, Enjolras said with sincerity.

                “So am I”, Combeferre said, stepping forward so he’d enter Courfeyrac’s field of vision with something akin to desperation in his body gesture.

                “Yeah”, Courfeyrac snorted, but the gesture wasn’t as aggressive as it could have been. “Damn right you are”. There was a small pause in which Courfeyrac leaned back against his seat, as if processing the information. His face filled up with grief, and Enjolras couldn’t help but to remember how hard he had sobbed, all those days ago, upon hearing about Grantaire’s death. “I can’t believe that R is going to…”, he trailed off, as if unable to finish the sentence. “This can’t be true. Sorry, but my brain can’t process this information this fast. And you… neither of you even _thought_ of telling me about this”, he added, with just the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice.

                “I didn’t tell you”, Enjolras explained, eyes glued to his own hands that were intertwined on the top of the kitchen table, “because Grantaire can’t know about this”.

                Courfeyrac stared at him blankly. Enjolras’ heart leaped inside his chest. The last thing he needed at this point was for Courfeyrac to side up with Jehan against him. A long time passed before the center said anything.

                “So you haven’t told _him_ , either”, he merely stated, voice void of any reaction.

                “No”, Combeferre stepped in once more, crossing his arms on the top of his chest in a gesture that could have looked disapproving, if Enjolras didn’t know better.

                “And will you?”, Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, and Enjolras could see a hint of disappointment flashing across his best friend’s eyes.

                “I don’t know”, Enjolras sighed, feeling cornered, a sudden sensation of fight or flight invading his brain. He took a deep breath as if not to snap at Courfeyrac. “I probably will”, he shrugged, and the words didn’t sound honest even to himself. “But not now. And _especially_ not now that we will be having a protest”.

                “Oh, so we _are_ having the protest”, Courfeyrac raised another eyebrow. “Because from the way you were talking, it didn’t seem very likely”.

                Combeferre shifted his weight between his two legs behind Courfeyrac, but said nothing. Enjolras sniffed, feeling slightly offended.

                “Well, we don’t exactly have an alternative, do we?”, Enjolras said, putting on a grumpy expression. “We can’t just allow congress to ruin people’s lives even further. We can’t just sit idly while they do what they want with us, with our tax money. We must fight against this law”. As he spoke, Enjolras could feel the righteous fury that used to be such a constant in his life stirring inside his chest once more. It was a little comforting to feel like his older self again, even if the fear of being in a protest again and of losing Grantaire made his stomach churn in anticipation.

                “That’s the Enjolras I know!” Courfeyrac smiled slightly, slapping his friend’s arm.

                “We need to plan it, then”, Combeferre noted, pushing his glass back up the bridge of his nose. “Talk to other groups that may want to get involved. We’ll need as many people as we can get on this”.

                “We can talk to Bahorel, he knows at least two other activist leaders in town”, Courfeyrac said, turning on his side so that he could talk to Combeferre face to face. They started to discuss the details of the possible protest, such as the location, the time, the people that would attend, the posters they would have to make. Enjolras watched silently, and even if he had been paying attention before, his thoughts started to inevitably drift off.

                As much as he loved Grantaire and feared losing him, he couldn’t just sit around and do nothing while the Congress voted a law that would probably change his – and many other people’s – lives for the worse. There wasn’t an option. They _had_ to protest. It was an urgent, outrageous necessity that couldn’t be put aside.

                Enjolras had ignored his activism to favor Grantaire for weeks now. Maybe if he had payed closer attention, this law voting wouldn’t have happened.

                He was so distracted by his inner monologue that he didn’t remember to text Grantaire that he was safe, as he had asked Enjolras to. Eventually, being too tired of going over the same unsolvable subject of Grantaire’s fate again, his brain picked up with his friends’ words, and even though he said nothing, Enjolras begun to listen to what they were saying more closely. This would be a dangerous rally – in fact, it would be ten times more dangerous than the protest that had gotten Grantaire killed. This meant that there was no possible way _at all_ that Grantaire would attend this. The mere possibility of his boyfriend showing up inside that chaos was enough to make Enjolras shiver, closing his eyes to blink away the images of a dying Grantaire that flooded his mind again.

                Combeferre must have noticed Enjolras’ reaction, for he cleared his throat and gave the leader a worried look.

                “Enjolras”, Combeferre called. “How are you feeling?”

                “I’m alright”, Enjolras immediately said, too fast for the response to be true, swallowing dry and not making eye contact with any of his friends. He itched at his arm, just so that his hand would be occupied with something. Courfeyrac mimicked Combeferre’s worried look, staring up at the guide with hesitance.

                “Maybe you should lay down a little”, Combeferre suggested gently. “We understand this is a lot to take in”.

                “We need to go to the meeting”, Enjolras protested half-heartedly.

                “We still have an hour to the meeting”, Courfeyrac intervened. “Plus, you’re not going to sleep, just rest. Come on, I’ll take you to bed”, he stood up from the chair, but froze as soon as he realized the accidental meaning of his words. A smug smirk appeared on his face, making his dimples show up, and he raised a suggestive eyebrow at Enjolras as he grabbed the leader’s arm. “Though I bet R would love taking that arduous task from my hands”.

                Enjolras rolled his eyes, managing to keep from blushing for once, and allowing Courfeyrac to pull him up from his seat and lead him to his own bedroom. But deep down, Enjolras was feeling slightly more relieved. If Courfeyrac had gone back to jesting, it meant he wasn’t that mad anymore, right?

                As soon as he entered the bedroom, Brownie stood up from his little bed and joggled to where Enjolras was standing, tail wiggling madly and letting out a tiny bark. Enjolras smiled, crouching down on the floor so that he could pick the puppy up, placing a kiss on the top of his moist nose.

                Enjolras sat on the edge of the bed, but he realized that Courfeyrac was still there. Looking up at his best friend with guilty eyes, Enjolras watched him close the bedroom door with a tiny click and walk back over to the bed, sitting beside the leader. None of them spoke for what felt like a long time, and even though this type of silence between the two of them could have been easy in the past, now it felt awkward and heavy from the weight of words that hadn’t been said.

                “Have you tried to break it?”, Courfeyrac asked after ages, staring at the countdown clock at Enjolras’ nightstand. He didn’t look at the leader.

                “No”, Enjolras admitted with a sigh. “But I can’t be sure of what will happen if I do. The countdown’s end could mean Grantaire’s death, right? And breaking the clock would result on ending the countdown”.

                Courfeyrac turned to look at Enjolras with an analyzing look.

                “You really put a lot of thought on this”, he said, and there was no questioning in his tone, just a simple observation.

                “How could I not?”, Enjolras looked up at his friend with a sad smile. “This is all my fault”.

                “Enjolras…”

                “It is”, Enjolras interrupted before Courfeyrac could even begin. He turned his head to stare at the puppy on his lap. “He was shot and died because of me. I kept this whole story from you and our friends. It feels like everything I do, no matter how hard I try, just makes things worse. Jehan found out and isn’t speaking to me, and he swore that he would tell Grantaire about this whole countdown story if I didn’t. But how can I tell Grantaire? How can I come up to him and say that he is going to die in less than a month, and that it will be my fault? He’s already so unhappy. I don’t want him to be even sadder”.

                “You can’t control someone else’s happiness, Enj”, Courfeyrac placed a hand on the top of Enjolras’. “I think it would be best to let R know, but this is your call”, he took a deep breath. “I love R and it breaks my heart to hear about… this. My penny hasn’t even dropped yet, and I’m not sure it will”, he turned back to staring at the clock. “But you’re the one who has to decide whether to tell him or not. For all we know so far, nothing is guaranteed to happen”.

                Enjolras’ heart tightened even further and his breathing got labored as he fought to prevent a sob from escaping his lips. God. He had given Courfeyrac the cold shoulder for weeks, he had ignored him and mistreated him and there was his friend, comforting and reassuring Enjolras despite of all the coldness he had received. Enjolras didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t fair to Courf.

                “I’m so sorry”, Enjolras blurted out, letting out a frustrated, shaky sigh. For a person who hated apologizing, he seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Maybe he was trying to compensate for the fact that he couldn’t properly apologize to the one person that mattered. “I really am, Courf. I’m sorry for not telling you, for ignoring you. You didn’t deserve that”.

                “I know I didn’t”, Courfeyrac scoffed with a humorous smile, turning his head towards Enjolras. “But it’s ok. I understand that you had too much on your shoulders. And I forgive you”, he turned on his side and pulled Enjolras into a hug, being careful not to crush the sleeping puppy between them. Enjolras enveloped his friend in his arms, thankful for the contact and the comfort. “I’m still a little mad at you but it won’t last long. Just…”, he sighed, “whenever you have a problem, you come to me ok? Don’t shut me out like this. You know how curious I am, I nearly died for not knowing what was going on with you”, he broke the hug so that he could stare at Enjolras in the eyes. “I worried. You can count on me for whatever you need. This is what friends are for. And I will always be here for you”.

                Enjolras let out a chocked breath that definitely wasn’t a sob, and threw himself at Courf again. Even though he felt undeserving of the comfort, it was good to know that he had someone to count on, someone that would always be by his side no matter what happened, no matter what he hid. Courfeyrac rubbed a soothing hand across Enjolras’ back, and the leader was thankful.

                “Thank you, Courf”, Enjolras settled for saying, voice muffled by his friend’s neck and constricted by the knot in his throat.

                “You’re welcome, jackass”, Courfeyrac said playfully.

-

                As the trio arrived at the Musain, they could sense the tension in the atmosphere. There was something wrong about the way that everyone was moving and talking, and Mme. Hucheloup sent her boys (as he affectionately called them) a worried look as they entered the café. Enjolras walked straight to the back room, whereas Combeferre and Courfeyrac stayed back to talk to Musichetta and Hucheloup. If this law was approved, it would definitely affect Hucheloup’s business. The folders and papers containing everything they had managed to gather about the law were safely tugged beneath his armpit as he walked. Only Jehan and Bahorel were there already, the poet idly braiding flowers into Bahorel’s beard, and Enjolras sent them a meek good evening before straightening the papers on the desk in front of him. He didn’t bother looking at Jehan, since the only thing he would find there would be disappointment.

                He hated this situation with Jehan. They were friends, and he loved the poet with all his heart. Jehan was usually so sweet and accepting; it broke Enjolras’ heart to receive the cold shoulder from him. But he knew that there was no way that the poet would ever stop hating him, unless he told Grantaire about the countdown. And that was something that he couldn’t do. He just couldn’t.

                As he re-read the papers and made a few late annotations on the edges, more people arrived and scattered across the room. Enjolras paid them no attention, focusing on reading and taking notes instead. Eventually, someone tapped his shoulder, and he looked up to find a worried Grantaire standing behind him.

                “Hi”, Enjolras said, sincerely surprised (Grantaire was always late for the meetings), and he settled his pen down before standing up to greet Grantaire.

                “What happened?”, was the first thing Grantaire asked him, a frown in his face. “I called you five times and you didn’t pick up”.

                “Ah, oh no, sorry”, Enjolras shut his eyes tightly, facepalming, and finally remembering that he never got to contact Grantaire after he got home, too caught up with the news to remember texting his boyfriend to let him know he was safe. He had burst out of Grantaire’s apartment after they had spent the night together, and then proceeded to not return any of the man’s calls. If Enjolras had been in the cynic’s place, he would have probably freaked out, thinking that he had done something wrong. Grantaire watched as Enjolras fished his forgotten phone out of his pocket, checking that, indeed, he had several missed calls and texts from Grantaire. “I’m so, so sorry, R. It’s just something horrible happened, we’ll be talking about this on the meeting”, Enjolras tried to explain.

                “Something horrible?”, Grantaire’s frown deepened, and one of his hands instinctively shot up to grab hold of Enjolras’ arm. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

                “Yes, yes, I’m fine”, Enjolras reassured him with a nod. “But the Congress is voting a law that will freeze public spending”, he explained, and one of Grantaire’s eyebrows immediately raised.

                “Are… you serious?”, he asked, a mocking smile appearing on his lips.

                “Yes, I am serious”, Enjolras frowned, slightly annoyed at the smile. As much as he loved to see Grantaire happy, this wasn’t the time for jokes – they had a serious matter in hands. Grantaire, however, scoffed with a surprised expression that neared excitement. “What are you smiling about?”, Enjolras ended up asking, snappier than he had intended. Didn’t Grantaire understand how this law could affect their lives? _His_ life?

                “I just think this is pretty fucking stupid”, Grantaire shrugged with a chuckle, throwing his arms.

                “Well, so do I”, Enjolras retorted with some level of dryness. Looking over Grantaire’s shoulder, Enjolras saw Combeferre give him a nod and a hand gesture that meant the meeting needed to begin. “Look, go take a seat, ok? We can speak after the meeting”, Enjolras caressed Grantaire’s hand that was holding his arm.

                “Bossy”, Grantaire gave him a shit-eating grin. Enjolras rolled his eyes and stole a very quick kiss from Grantaire’s lips, earning a series of wolf-whistles and scattered claps across the room, mostly from Bahorel and Feuilly. He rolled his eyes again, and Grantaire found himself a seat beside Joly and Bossuet.

                “Good evening, citizens”, Enjolras said, still fidgeting with the papers in his hands. The room immediately went silent, waiting to hear what he had to say. “I am sure that all here have heard of the new law that will be voted tomorrow”. There was a series of nods and agreements across the room, followed by some whispered and rushed comments. “This is an act of cowardice. This is shameful! Not only because they wish to take away the rights we pay for with our tax money, but also because they intend to do so beneath the covers! If the information about the voting hadn’t been leaked, we would have only heard of this when it was too late! And we cannot allow that to happen. We have a long night ahead of us, my friends, for we will rally tomorrow at first light!”, Enjolras raised a fist in the air, earning lots of cheers of agreement. He was aware of how dramatic his speech sounded, but the attendees seemed to like it.

                However, a giggle could be heard between the praises. Enjolras’ eyes immediately shot up to Grantaire, who was trying to cover his smile behind a newfound bottle of beer. Enjolras’ heart tightened. He wished Grantaire wouldn’t humiliate him like this.

                “Now, we need to discuss the plans for tomorrow”, Enjolras continued, trying not to allow himself to be distracted by his boyfriend’s mockery. He begun to deliver the quick plan that he, Combeferre and Courfeyrac had developed in half an hour back at his apartment, taking in suggestions from all the Amis and the other attendees that had showed up for that specific meeting. By the end of the hour, they already had a complete plan in mind.

                Bahorel was to leave the meeting for a while so that he could contact his friends and other activist groups that were willing to join them on the ten-kilometer march they would organize on the following day. Enjolras had wanted them to march from France to Versailles, but the idea was quickly teared down by Combeferre, who claimed that it wouldn’t be very appealing to the masses to march for about 40 kilometers in one single day. Bahorel was to gather as much supporters as he could, while the other Amis would stay back at the Musain to begin to develop the posters they would take to the march. Joly, Combeferre and Jehan went out to buy the material for the posters, and Mme. Hucheloup allowed the group to stay over the night developing whatever it was they would take to the protest. As Enjolras had said, it _would_ be a long night, because due to the congressmen’s dishonesty, they had only learned about the law on the eve of its voting. They had no time to lose, and Enjolras was too busy coordinating what everyone was supposed to do and trying to come up with slogans for the posters at the same time, to be able to pay Grantaire the attention he desired.

                It was only after an hour of talking to people that Enjolras found himself a few minutes to sit down at one of the chairs and lean back, closing his eyes. He was stressed from all the work he had done, worried about the rally and angry at the government for even considering something like that. He was sulky and not in the best of moods, which was never a good sign.

                Joly and the others arrived with the materials to make the posters – where they had found all that at 8 p.m. in a Monday was beyond Enjolras – and the Amis who had stayed back begun to develop them. Enjolras was about to go over to Combeferre and Courfeyrac to help them out when Grantaire got into his way, a nervous smile on his face.

                “Oh, hey R”, Enjolras said. He really wanted to go over to his friends and help them, but he had already ignored his boyfriend enough for a day, hadn’t he? Therefore, he smiled patiently and took Grantaire’s hand into his.

                “How can I help?”, Grantaire immediately asked, and Enjolras couldn’t help but to drop his smile and frown in confusion. Since when had Grantaire offered himself to help the cause? What was happening? The cynic must have seen the confusion in Enjolras’ eyes, for he chuckled lowly and shoved his hands inside his pockets. “Well, I would be a pretty shitty boyfriend if I sat down and got wasted while you do all the work by yourself. As much as I don’t believe in your cause, blah blah blah, I still want to help you out”, he shrugged. Oh. He wasn’t doing this for the cause, Enjolras should have figured right away. He even let out a tiny giggle at his naivety.

                But Grantaire wouldn’t be attending the protest – that was unthinkable. Enjolras suddenly realized that he would have to tell that to Grantaire, otherwise he would just appear in the protest in the hopes of being a good boyfriend, just like he was offering himself to help now. With a sigh, he gently grabbed one of Grantaire’s arms and pulled him away from Combeferre and Courfeyrac, so that they could have some privacy.

                “So, R, about that”, Enjolras begun, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Look”, he begun, looking deep into Grantaire’s eyes. “I think it’d be better if you went home. There’s not much for you to do here and we have it all sorted already. We’ll see each other on Wednesday ok?”, Enjolras smiled. This way, he wasn’t directly telling Grantaire not to go, but it would be implicit, wouldn’t it? He didn’t want Grantaire to feel like Enjolras didn’t want his presence due to his lack of competence, but that was probably bound happen, given Grantaire’s ability to misinterpret Enjolras’ words.

                Turns out sugarcoating wasn’t the best of plans, for Grantaire wasn’t one to let Enjolras’ words slip easily.

                “Wednesday?”, he frowned, clearly confused. “I know I don’t pay attention to most of the activist stuff you say, but I’m pretty sure you said the protest would be tomorrow?”, he chuckled with a hint of nervousness.

                “It is tomorrow”, Enjolras sighed. He really didn’t want to say the words, but there didn’t seem to be an easy way out of this. He set the papers he was holding on the table near them. “Look, R, I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to go to this protest”, Enjolras said, wanting to avoid Grantaire’s eyes but not managing to. Those expressive grey orbs attracted Enjolras’ gaze and, on that moment, made it impossible for the leader to look away.

                “Why not?”, Grantaire asked, brow furrowing. Enjolras let out another resigned sigh.

                “Because it will be dangerous, and chaotic, and tiring, and I don’t want you to get involved in this sort of thing”, Enjolras explained patiently. Grantaire let out a scoff.

                “That’s never stopped me from attending, before”, he protested.

                “We weren’t dating before”, Enjolras sighed. “And you rarely attended, anyway”, he added, trying to make a point. It was true; Grantaire rarely went to protests.

_And the last time he did, he got himself killed._

                “Oh, so I can’t go, but somehow it’s ok for _you_ to be involved?”, Grantaire raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

                “Yes, because I am the leader of this group”, Enjolras said with only the slightest bit of patronizing, squinting his eyes as if his reasons were obvious.

                “Well, and I’m the leader’s boyfriend”, Grantaire retorted without hesitation, mimicking Enjolras’ squint. “I don’t understand why you don’t want me to go”, Grantaire added, shaking his head in confusion. “You’ve always complained about my lack of involvement with your activism, and now that I want to get involved you don’t want me to? Don’t you trust me?”.

                “I trust you, R, but let’s be honest, you’re not going for the activism”, Enjolras responded, and there was no malice in his tone, just a simple observation. “You’re going for _me_ ”.

                “And what’s the matter with that?”, Grantaire shrugged. “You’re my boyfriend, isn’t it normal for me to want to be near my boyfriend?”

                “Yes, R, it is”, Enjolras resigned. Why did the cynic have to make everything so much more difficult? “But this isn’t a hang out, or, or a stroll in the park, this is a rally and it will be dangerous and it will involve police and rioters and _all sorts_ of dangerous-s things. I don’t want you to get hurt”, Enjolras outstretched a gentle hand to take Grantaire’s, but the cynic shrugged away from the touch, making Enjolras’ face drop.

                “Ok, just stop this, will you?”, Grantaire snapped.

                “What?”, Enjolras frowned.

                “You’ve been constantly treating me as if I’m made of porcelain, or as if I’ll break any second. I’m not, and I won’t break”, Grantaire explained a little bit more aggressively than he had intended. “Honestly, Enjolras, I already live with Joly, and I don’t need you to mother me too. I’m a grown man, I can make my own decisions and I can decide what’s good or not for me”.

                _You clearly can’t_ , Enjolras thought, but said nothing. Instead, his lips formed a thin line, and he tilted his chin in defiance. He was not letting Grantaire attend that protest. He wouldn’t put Grantaire’s life at risk again.

                “I’m only saying this because I care about you”, Enjolras tried to explain as patiently as he could. “And I don’t want to see you suffer”.

                “Always the martyr”, Grantaire laughed, scorning. “So, if I’m not going, then you’re not going either, because _I_ care about you, too”, he raised an eyebrow. “And I don’t want _you_ to get hurt”.

                “It’s different”, Enjolras shook his head. “It’s completely different. I’m the leader, I _have_ to go”.

                “And what am I?”, Grantaire immediately asked. Enjolras frowned.

                “What?”

                “What am I to you, Enjolras?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Because as much as you wanted to make things _official_ between us, I haven’t seen much officiation from your part. Do our friends even know you’re my boyfriend?”

                Enjolras merely gaped at Grantaire, taken aback. He hadn’t had the time to tell his friends about that, and he had assumed that Grantaire would have done so.

                “Yeah, that’s what I thought”, Grantaire scoffed, a humorless smile in his lips. He dramatically stood up from his chair and raised his arms widely, calling the attention of the other Amis even from their table in the corner of the room. “Attention, everyone!”, Grantaire announced, voice loud and echoing. Everyone stopped what they were doing. “I would like to introduce you to Enjolras, my _boyfriend_ , since he’s apparently too busy to do so himself”.

                “ _Stop that_ ”, Enjolras hissed, grabbing Grantaire by the hand and pulling him back into a sitting position. The cynic giggled at the gesture, but Enjolras wasn’t smiling. “That wasn’t _funny_ , Grantaire”, he scolded, genuinely upset at his boyfriend for exposing themselves like that.

                “It wasn’t _supposed_ to be”, Grantaire retorted childishly, yanking his hand away from Enjolras’ grasp.

                “Why are you doing this?”, Enjolras asked, upset. “Are you drunk?”

                “Oh, yes, because now I have to be drunk to be honest”, Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I really don’t get you sometimes”.

                “Grantaire, why are you reacting like this?”, Enjolras snapped, trying to keep his voice down but very aware of the looks and glances he was drawing. He leaned forward on the desk so that Grantaire could hear him despite of his whispered tone. “I just asked you something simple, because I care about you. Is it such a crime, not wanting to see you get hurt?”

                “Well, no, but you’re talking as if you’re the boss of me, which you aren’t”, Grantaire scoffed. “You can’t stop me from going if I want to. It’s a public square, as long as I remember”.

                “You’re right. I can’t stop you”, Enjolras threw his head up in the air, frustrated. “But I’m asking you to. Please, do not go”, he said the words while staring deeply into Grantaire’s eyes, trying to urge the man to read the pleading in them.

                “Why?”, Grantaire asked, sounding like a child about to throw a tantrum. “I can take care of myself!”

                “No, you can’t!”, Enjolras slammed a hand against the desk, something inside him finally breaking and allowing his frustration to get the best of him. Grantaire’s eyes widened slightly, but Enjolras didn’t even notice that. “You can’t”, he continued, voice lowered. “You’ve dragged yourself into a fighting den _for money_ while drunk out of your brains the second I took my eyes off you, so yeah, you clearly can’t take care of yourself properly and you are not attending to this damn rally!”.

                Grantaire’s face went from shock to disbelief to scorn in a few too silent seconds. His lips twisted into a mocking, scowling smile before he spoke. Enjolras’ blood froze.

                “Oh, I see”, Grantaire leaned back against his chair. Enjolras was too aware of all the looks he was receiving now, it was as if everyone had stopped what they had been doing just to watch their discussion (which was not uncommon for the Amis). “So you’re _dictating_ what I am supposed to do”, Grantaire allowed the word to curl around his tongue as he pronounced every syllable very emphatically.

                “Please, don’t start that”, Enjolras sighed, annoyed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. Grantaire let out a roaring laugh at this, and through the corner of his eye, could see Joly stand up from where he was kneeling on the floor, albeit with some difficulty.

                “Well, if you don’t want me to start then don’t give me reason to start”, Grantaire shrugged, a shit-eating, fake smile on his face. “For someone who constantly speaks of liberty and freedom, you’re sounding really fucking _dictatorial_ to me, _forbidding_ me to attend to a public event. Enjolras, the dictator who decides what you should and shouldn’t do with your life!”, Grantaire shouted behind his shoulder to no one in particular.

                Feeling uncomfortable with all the attention they were receiving, Enjolras, the one who usually lost his temper during discussions, tried to be the reasonable person for once and took in a deep breath, looking at Grantaire straight in the eye. He was about to lose it again, though. He was toeing the line. One single word would be enough to make him burst.

                “Grantaire, can we discuss this in private?”, Enjolras asked patiently. “I don’t want to make a scene”.

                “The scene is already made, Enjolras”, Grantaire shook his head, still smiling. “Do you think this bunch of people haven’t heard everything we’ve said so far? Jesus, we could even make a voting to decide whether or not I should attend to the protest!”, Grantaire stood up again, and this time, when Enjolras tried to grab his hand, he yanked it away from the leader’s grasp with even more strength. “So, what do you think, guys?”, Grantaire shouted, raising his arms up in the air. Nobody said a word, and the silence apparently only served to irritate Grantaire even further. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Did the cat eat your tongues?”

                “R, sit down, you’re embarrassing yourself”, Joly asked weakly, leaning heavily on the wall behind him. Apparently, he was having a bad leg day, but that didn’t seem to soften Grantaire’s heart, for he merely scoffed and waved Joly off with a dismissive hand.

                “You don’t count”, he said absentmindedly, looking around the room. “Ah! You!”, he exclaimed, pointing at Bahorel. “What do you think?”

                “Siddown man, you’re drunk”, Bahorel answered, words echoing across the otherwise silent room. Grantaire scowled.

                “R, please –“, Enjolras started, trying his best to be reasonable and _not lose his temper_. However, Grantaire seemed to be very dedicated to make Enjolras fight him.

                “Oh, don’t fucking ‘R, please’ me”, Grantaire snapped, in a very bad imitation of Enjolras’ voice and turning back to face the leader. “That’s not fair and you know it. I still don’t understand why the fuck you decided to start this relationship with me, of all people, but if it was so that you could use me as a fucking lapdog every time you want me to do or _not do_ something and then try to stop me from taking a place of importance in your personal life, then that wasn’t a particularly clever choice. If you’re embarrassed of me, just say it, you don’t need to –“

                “Enough!”, Enjolras stood up, slamming his hands on the table once more. Surprisingly, Grantaire stopped ranting, eyes widening again. “That’s enough”, he panted, anger clear in his voice, and exhausted from all the stress, emotional and physical, that he was feeling. He put on the most detached expression he could muster, the one that Grantaire always compared to marble and that Enjolras despised, but if being cold was the only way to prevent Grantaire from injuring himself, then so be it. Enjolras would rather lose Grantaire but have him live than to see his boyfriend get hurt again. “I don’t want. Your presence. In that rally”, Enjolras said, words paused, hating the way his own voice sounded.

                He could feel the way the room tensed around him as soon as he had put on his cold façade, but he didn’t allow his expression to falter. He even managed to see the way Grantaire’s face changed, but the cynic still wouldn’t let go of his scornful twist of lips.

                “You don’t _want_ me there”, he asked in a patronizing tone, as if he was sure that Enjolras would disagree and say that he had misunderstood his words. But Enjolras couldn’t risk having Grantaire show up. He just couldn’t.

                He knew that Grantaire would be hurt by his words. He knew that they would end up fighting and that he would have to make things right later. But Enjolras couldn’t cancel the protest, and he couldn’t allow Grantaire to go and get injured – or worse – either. This was the only way. He’d rather have Grantaire hurt by his words than by someone’s bullet.

                “No”, Enjolras say without faltering. “I don’t want you there”.

                If the silence had been tense before, now it was overwhelming. No one said a word. Enjolras could safely bet that no one dared to breathe, even. Grantaire’s expression immediately dropped, all of its previous defiance and mockery dissipating to give place to disbelief and – oh no – hurt.

                Still, he wasn’t doing anything. He was merely glued to his feel, staring at Enjolras with those wide, expressive eyes of his, and Enjolras would need to deliver the final blow, the final stunt to prevent Grantaire from getting himself killed on Enjolras’ behalf – again.

                “You’re not _wanted_ nor _needed_ there”, Enjolras said coldly, tilting his chin up.

                More silence. Enjolras thought that, in that silence, it was impossible for his friends not to listen to his frantic heartbeat. The silence in the room felt like the calmness before a storm. It felt like ages passed until Grantaire spoke up, everyone frozen to the spot, as if someone had pressed pause on the scene and all they could do was breathe.

                “So I’m _unwanted_ ”, Grantaire repeated, as if waiting for confirmation. Enjolras nodded briefly, as if daring Grantaire to defy him on that matter.

                “Yes”, Enjolras said coldly. “You are”.

                It was only after his confirmation that Enjolras remembered the conversation he had had with Grantaire previously on that day, after their night spent together and that felt like a million years ago.

_I’ve always felt like the odd one out. They never wanted to have me, which is probably why I’ve felt so… unwanted, all my life._

                Oh, fucking great.

                Before Enjolras could do anything, before he could even think of trying to reach for his boyfriend’s hand, Grantaire spun on his heels and barged out of the Musain’s back room. The silence that followed the loud slamming of the door made Enjolras flinch, falling back to his seat silently and covering his face with his hands in resignation. He had to breathe. He had to keep his cool. He couldn’t break down in front of all these people, especially not now, on the eve of the rally. They needed a leader, they needed Enjolras.

                “Alright, people, back to work”, Combeferre announced loudly, after more seconds passed and no one dared to make a single movement, all eyes glued to Enjolras’ hunched form. The guide twisted his hands in the air, urging the Amis to go back to making the posters, before he and Courfeyrac approached Enjolras, who had his head buried between his arms on the top of the table.

                “Why is everything I do always wrong?”, Enjolras asked, voice muffled by his arms. Combeferre sighed, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with the fabric of his shirt. Courfeyrac outstretched a hand and traced soothing circles against Enjolras’ back.

                “It’s going to be fine”, Combeferre reassured halfheartedly, sounding almost as if he was too tired of Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s constant fighting to bother trying to make things better.

                “It was just the heat of the moment”, Courfeyrac said, though he didn’t sound so sure, either. “He’ll understand after the protest passes”.

                “Will he, though?”, Enjolras lifted his head so that he could look up at Courfeyrac. “Because he doesn’t know _why_ I’m so worried. And he can’t know. He has no idea that every time I close my eyes, all I see is him, dying, _dead_ , and I can’t exactly tell him that without sounding creepy, can I?”

                “But you should”, said a voice coming from behind them. The trio turned their heads in synchrony, only to find Jehan holding a poster in his arms, waiting to show them the results of his work.

                “Jehan, this is not the best moment for this sort of conversation”, Combeferre said, only the tiniest hint of reprehending in his voice.

                “I know”, Jehan said, voice lacking its usual cheerfulness. He stepped forwards and placed the posters on the table. “I’m not here to talk about this; I have made my position on this matter more than clear enough”, he pointed Enjolras a scolding look. “But there is a more urgent issue on the table now”, he nodded to the posters. “Let’s just be thankful that, at least, Grantaire isn’t going to the protest tomorrow”.

                “Ouch, man”, Courfeyrac winced, picking up one of the posters and opening it. “That’s cold for you”.

                “I can be cold when I have to”, Jehan replied, unaffected.

                “Look, Jehan…”, Enjolras started, but Combeferre raised a hand.

                “Not now”, he said with vehemence. “Let’s see the poster”.

                They analyzed the poster and gave Jehan some suggestions about a few aspects that could be changed. Jehan, being mature enough to tell the difference between his personal issues with Enjolras and the work that they were doing, took notes of the leader’s opinions and promptly put them into work alongside Feuilly and Musichetta, who had just finished her shift on the Musain. It was getting late, but they couldn’t stop.

                Enjolras caught himself thinking about calling Grantaire several times, but was able to stop himself from doing so. He hated that situation – it felt like a huge step back, after all the progress that his relationship with the man had had – but there was nothing he could do about it in the moment without distracting himself from a higher cause. As soon as this situation with the Congress was over, Enjolras promised himself, he would do anything and everything to earn Grantaire’s forgiveness and apologize for his behavior. The last thing Enjolras wanted in the world was having Grantaire relating him to his abusive parents, or being unhappy.

                None of the Amis got any sleep on that night, too busy preparing the details for the march. When it was 5 a.m. they finally finished all the details, signs and posters – they would need as much as they could get done, assuming that the groups Bahorel had invited would join them – and the T-shirts. Enjolras, used to being sleep deprived as he was, didn’t even take any effect to his lack of sleep, but he could see it in his friend’s eyes. Joly was nearly dropping on his face from exhaustion, leg hurting too much for him to stand upright and Bossuet’s hand on his chest being the only thing keeping him from falling on the floor as he fought sleep without much success. Feuilly also looked as exhausted as Joly, but at least he was managing to stay awake. It was probably the adrenaline in his veins – the same adrenaline that flooded Enjolras’ blood – and kept them from thinking about anything else other than the incoming protest.

                Even though he was very, very scared, Enjolras was also looking forward for the protest. Ever since Grantaire’s death, he hadn’t been mentally prepared to get involved with anything cause-related, other than writing some posts and delivering some halfhearted speeches. Maybe it would be good for him to go back to these old habits, even if it had taken a fight with Grantaire for him to do so. But they would solve things later. They would. They had to. Grantaire would understand his reasons for saying what he had said, wouldn’t he? So Enjolras kept telling himself.

                Arriving at the square from which the march would begin was, by far, the easiest task their group had to do, compared to the night of non-stopping work. Some people from other activist groups were already there, holding posters and signs even though it was only 10 a.m. Enjolras was too tired, but greeted the other leaders and some members as cheerfully as he could, given the circumstances.

                The march was supposed to start at 11, but Bahorel informed them that two other groups had agreed to join them on the last minute, so they had to wait for their arrival for half an hour. Their plan was to march up to Palais Bourbon, and then to begin the proper rally there. Enjolras had no way to count how many people were agglomerating on the meeting point for the march, but if he had to make a guess, he would say definitely over fifty. Maybe it would be too ambitious to say a thousand, but he wouldn’t doubt it, either. The place was so crowded with people that it was hard to even move, and if he wanted to tell someone something, he would have to shout. Thankfully, he had remembered to bring his megaphone with him, so when the time came to deliver his speech, he wouldn’t have to sacrifice his throat’s integrity to do so.

                Before they begun the march, Enjolras fought his way through the thickest part of the crowd so that he could have enough space to fish his phone out of his pocket. There were no missed calls or texts. With a sigh, he opened his conversation with Grantaire.

**To: R** **♥** **(11:37) Just remember that I love you and I just want you to be safe and happy. The only reason I said what I said is because I care about you. Sorry for saying that you’re unwanted.**

                He clicked send and didn’t wait for the response that he knew he wouldn’t receive, putting his phone back into his pocket.

                The march begun with shouts of indignance and quick made up chants that warmed Enjolras’ chest and made more adrenaline fill his veins. Knowing that Grantaire wouldn’t be there in that mess made his fear lessen, and he allowed himself to chant with the crowd behind him. His heart was beating frantically from the mixture of anxiety that things would go wrong and excitement, but those feelings were soon smothered by the righteous anger that came from seeing so many people revolt alongside him. There were no issues to be seen – everyone was peacefully marching and singing and chanting in unison. The march was long and exhausting, but none of the attendees of the rally were bothered by that. What mattered was that they were fighting back, and no change (for the better) in history had ever been done without sacrifice.

                As they arrived at the Palais Bourbon, a wall of policemen was already formed around the palace. Enjolras’ nostrils flared, but he had been expecting that. It wouldn’t be an issue. They would still rally and he would still deliver his speech.

                Enjolras and three other leaders of activist groups struggled their way to the front of the crowd, where Combeferre, Courfeyrac and two other men the leader didn’t know had put together a small improvised stage. Enjolras and the three men climbed it, and it took them a few moments to call the attention of the hundreds of people gathered together there. Turning his megaphone on, Enjolras handed it over to the man to his right. He never managed to give concise or short speeches when there were so many people in front of him; he always tended to speak too much and too fiercely. It would be better if he delivered the speech last.

                He had been less nervous during the march than he was now, standing on that stage. As much as he agreed with the passionate words of his fellowman, he couldn’t help but to feel his chest tighten and his stomach churn as he remembered feeling exactly the same right before the protest went to hell and Grantaire died. He always felt it – the rushing blood flow, the adrenaline, the thumping of his heart, the thoughts and ideas racing through his brain, the sweaty palms, the anticipation. Those things had never been a problem before – in fact, they had always been very pleasing and addicting to Enjolras – but ever since Grantaire’s death, Enjolras hadn’t been able to put himself together anymore. That excitement that being on stage, delivering a speech brought was now being overwhelmed by the fear that the past would repeat itself and that things would go wrong again.

                He tried to concentrate and to keep his mind away from what could and wouldn’t be, but he just couldn’t help but to remember Grantaire’s gasps and the smell of pepper spray burning his nostrils and eyes. As he ran his eyes through the crowd, which was nearly buzzing with excitement and tension, he couldn’t help but to remember how his own crowd had behaved in the past, right before the first punch was thrown. His heartbeat increased and he could feel his throat tighten, all odds indicating that he was about to have another panic attack.

                Maybe Grantaire was right and he should go back to his medication, but this was a matter for another time.

                He took in a deep breath and counted backwards, from ten to zero. He would have allowed his eyes to slip close so that he could concentrate better on his calming erratic heart, but there were too many people watching him for him to be able to do that without giving hints that there was something wrong. Instead, Enjolras looked up at the sky, noticing it was full of dark clouds. A hint of a smile appeared in his lips. On the day of Grantaire’s death, it had been sunny – too sunny. It made the loss feel unreal and misplaced. Now, it looked like it was about to rain. Whether that was a good or a bad sign, Enjolras couldn’t tell.

                As the other leaders spoke, the crowd grew more frantic and responsive, shouting words of agreement and revolt more often as the time passed. Soon enough, they had gone back to chanting, only it was no longer unison, but scattered across the mass of people gathered in front of the makeshift stage. The police behind Enjolras and the others begun to shift and fidget in accord to the crowd’s energy, and Enjolras could feel the growing tension in the air. Whether it was from the incoming storm or the people, he couldn’t tell, but it was as if a current of electricity had begun to buzz across the crowd, affecting the policemen. A short-circuit was about to happen, Enjolras could tell.

                Finally, after nearly an hour, the megaphone was handed over to Enjolras. It was his turn to deliver the speech, and the crowd was more agitated than he was used to. He would have to be careful with his words and his passion as not to incite a riot. That would be the last thing he needed, even though his instinct told him it was very probable.

                Even while containing his words, Enjolras couldn’t help but to allow some of his anger and frustration to seep into his voice, earning shouts of agreement and frantic waving of signs. He spoke of justice and of democracy, and he could feel that it was too late for him to try to contain his words. His speech was like the deliverance of a powerful overture, a beautiful and yet inconsistent preparation for something bigger that was yet to come. This protest was supposed to be peaceful, but from the way that the people in the crowd were beginning to shove at each other, it looked like they were going to have a problem. Enjolras lost track to what he was saying as soon as someone shoved Combeferre too hard, making him lose balance and fall to the floor. The crowd was beginning to get out of control, and the police was starting to notice that too.

                In the past, Enjolras would have continued to speak. But now, he was frozen to his feet, lips half-parted in the middle of a phrase that would never be finished. His grip on the half-lifted megaphone was tight, making his knuckles go white. All he could think about was of how everything was going wrong again, and how it was all his fault.

                What would he do if another one of his friends died?

                The man beside Enjolras was speaking to him, but he wouldn’t have been able to make out the words even if he had tried: the crowd had grown too loud and too erratic. His eyes were fixed on the people shoving each other, and soon enough the megaphone was tore away from his hand, that fell limply to his side as Enjolras watched the crowd. One of the leaders was trying to calm the people down, now, but all Enjolras could do was stare in horror. Flashbacks of the crowd losing control flooded his head, and he could no longer tell whether he was living the past or the present. All he could see was the chaos repeating itself, and his inability to do anything to prevent it once again. He could spot a desperate Combeferre trying to get to him, getting up from the floor and struggling his way through the crowd, hand reaching for Enjolras in the distance. And still, Enjolras couldn’t move, fear paralyzing him. He could feel the shakiness of his own irregular breathing making his chest seize, and his knees were starting to buckle.

                And then, before Combeferre could get near the stage, before the leader of the other activist group could manage to calm the crowd down, before the policemen could get into action and try to disperse the protesters, Enjolras saw it. A too familiar mop of black, thick curls, and a set of expressive grey eyes that locked with Enjolras’ for a fraction of a second before disappearing again behind the crowd again.

                His heart dropped so hard to his stomach that Enjolras thought he had lost consciousness for some milliseconds.

                It was as if the moment he had spotted Grantaire on that crowd triggered something in the people’s minds. The first punch was thrown, and from that, it all went to hell.

                Again.

                Combeferre finally reached the stage and yelled something that Enjolras didn’t hear beneath the high pitch that had taken over his ears. He blinked blankly at his best friends, eyesight blurred, noticing that Combeferre was outstretching his hand for Enjolras to take. Turning his head, Enjolras noticed that the other leaders were already gone from the stage, and that he was the last man standing. The policemen behind the stage were starting to move into action. Enjolras didn’t even notice that he had taken hold of Combeferre’s hand until he was being pulled away from the stage and dragged into the crowd.

                “Are you ok?”, Combeferre yelled over the sound of fighting and screaming. His friend’s glasses were askew, the lenses moist from sweat and the humidity in the air. He looked worried and pressed his thumb against Enjolras’ pulse. “Enjolras!”, he urged, voice verging on desperation.

                “Grantaire is here”, Enjolras managed to choke out, voice constricted and low. He slowly turned his head to stare at Combeferre, horror evident in his eyes. It was probable that Combeferre hadn’t heard him, since his tone was barely over a whisper. But still, the guide gave him a nod, aware of what Enjolras was talking about.

                “Don’t worry”, Combeferre yelled so that he could be heard. “Jehan is with Grantaire; he’ll take him out of here!”

                Enjolras allowed himself to be dragged across the crowd and away from the police by Combeferre. His legs had gained life of their own and begun moving without Enjolras’ control or attention, but that didn’t work out very well for too long, because in no time Enjolras tripped and fell to the floor, in the middle of the thickest part of the crowd.

                The overwhelming amount of legs and feet and limbs around him made him lose his breath. There were so many people there, somebody stepped on his hand and somebody ended up kicking his head. He was stuck in the middle of the mass, unable to get up and Combeferre was nowhere to be seen. He was faintly aware of someone yelling his name, but the everlasting high pitch in his ears drowned down all other sounds. Another foot contacted with his temple, and Enjolras, who had managed to lift his upper torso with the aid of his shaking arms, fell back to the floor, on his belly, head connecting sharply with the pavement.

                He could no longer breathe, too suffocated by the people and by the fear. His heart felt like it was about to give out and he could no longer move, not even if he wanted to. He only managed to instinctively turn on his side and pull his knees up to his chest in a fetal position, trying to protect his head by throwing his bent arms around it.

                And then there was another hand on him, just like Combeferre’s, but the grip was tighter and more urgent. With a struggling series of yanks, he was pulled away from the center of the chaotic mess that the rally had become. Looking up – and faintly realizing that there was blood trickling down his forehead – he saw that his savior was no one other than Jehan.

                “Are you alright?”, Jehan was yelling so that he could be heard over the sound of the screaming people, but all Enjolras could do was stare at him dumbly, sluggish thoughts trying to line up inside his head. There was something wrong about this. “Enjolras!”, Jehan urged, just like Combeferre had mere minutes ago. “Are you alright?”

                Out of nowhere, the information clicked.

                “Where’s Grantaire?”, Enjolras asked, aware of how his face was scrunching up in horror.

                “What?”, Jehan frowned. Enjolras shakily got to his feet, leaning most of his weight hard on Jehan’s thin frame.

                “Combeferre said he was with you!”, Enjolras shouted, desperation filling his voice. “Grantaire! He’s here!”, he basically cried out.

                Jehan’s face went from a confused frown to a horrified expression as soon as he made sense of what Enjolras was telling him.

                “Oh no”, he whispered, shocked. “Oh, god, no”.

                “I need to go”, Enjolras said, face scrunching up. He was about to cry, he could sense it. But he couldn’t allow himself to break right now. He needed to find Grantaire and protect him. “I need to find him”, he let go of his tight grip on Jehan’s shoulders, but as soon as he tried to take a step forwards, he lost balance and would have fallen on his face was it not for Jehan’s tight grip on his arms.

                “You need to stay here”, Jehan told him, tilting Enjolras’ head back as if to take a better look at his face. “You’re bleeding and probably concussed”.

                “I have to go”, Enjolras half-sobbed, half-chocked, trying to free himself from Jehan’s hold. A loud thunder echoed across the front of the palace, and mere seconds after that, heavy drops of rain begun to fall from the sky. Enjolras took advantage of Jehan’s distraction with the rain to yank his arm from the poet’s grip, running his way back into the crowd. He could hear Jehan calling his name behind him, but didn’t dare to look back. He had to find Grantaire.

                The people were starting to disperse and scatter due to the rain, which Enjolras was thankful for. What he _wasn’t_ thankful for was the way that the floor went all slippery and wet due to the water, and the way that the droplets of rain that kept running down his face made the cut on his forehead sting. His vision was blurry – whether it was from the water or the concussion, Enjolras couldn’t tell – and his senses were not exactly precise. All the faces and voices around him were foreign, and there was no way he would be able to find Grantaire in that mess, given his state.

                “Grantaire!”, Enjolras yelled on the top of his lungs, on the hope that his boyfriend would hear him and reveal himself. Why was he hiding from Enjolras? He understood that his words had hurt the cynic, but there was no reason to hide. Not in that crowd. Enjolras couldn’t exactly remember what he had told Grantaire on that moment, but it had been something bad. Bad enough to send him running away. “Grantaire!”, Enjolras yelled again, but all he heard in response was the sound of the heavy rain falling on the floor and the eventual shouting and mumbling of the people around him.

                Still, he kept going. He had to keep going. He couldn’t stop until he found Grantaire.

                Enjolras was stumbling, limping, probably looking like a drunk man. His balance was compromised and his feet were unsteady beneath him, head aching and cut burning, but still, he had to find Grantaire. The warm blood running down half of his face and making one of his eyes sting went mostly unnoticed by him as he kept shouting Grantaire’s name, in the hope that he would be able to find him before something happened. He couldn’t allow something bad to happen to Grantaire, not again. He had to find him. That was the only coherent thought in his head. Find Grantaire. Nothing else mattered.

                And then, after what felt like hours of searching and wandering aimlessly around the crowd, Enjolras could hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh, fist connecting with bone, muffled, desperate groans. He turned around and was met with a sight that, at first, made no sense to him.

                There were three men. One of them was being held on a tight chokehold, lower lip cut open and fingers scratching the arm of his assaulter and desperately trying to break himself free. The man holding the victim was smiling wickedly, not letting go. The third man was punching the victim on the stomach non-stop, yelling slurs as he did so.

                The man being held on the chokehold, face red from the lack of air, eyes wide from desperation and legs kicking as he struggled, looked oddly familiar.

                Then it clicked.

                The man being held on the chokehold was Grantaire.

                Enjolras saw red.

                He didn’t even get to think before he threw himself against the man punching Grantaire, tackling him to the ground and allowing his fist to connect with the man’s face. He had promised he wouldn’t allow Grantaire to get hurt again. He had promised.

                “Stay away from him!”, Enjolras heard his own voice shouting at the man’s face as he punched him.

                Enjolras hated fighting – he always preferred to use his words, rather than his fists – but he wouldn’t allow that man to hurt his Grantaire. Attacking a man while being concussed, though, turned out to not be a very good idea, because soon the man managed to dodge Enjolras’ fist and he was being pulled back by his associate, who had let go of Grantaire. Enjolras fell on his back on the wet floor, already aching head connecting with the hard surface once again.

                “This one’s the fag that was speaking on the stage”, one of the men – which of them was beyond Enjolras’ comprehension – said, before kicking Enjolras on the ribs. The leader doubled over, eyes shutting tightly. Then, he was being held up, dizzy and disoriented.

                A fist connected with his cheekbone and he fell back on his butt, vision swimming and limbs refusing to obey him. Another fist connected with his eye, and a foot with his stomach, until he could no longer make sense of what was happening to him. There was pain everywhere, on his head, more specifically, and he was pretty sure that the assaulters were using something hard and large to deliver blows against his face.

                Then they were gone, but the pain remained, and all that he could hear was the loud sound of rain falling around him. There were distant thuds and muffled groans that sounded like they were miles away. There was water running down his face, but the cut on his forehead no longer stung. In fact, nothing else hurt that much anymore. His senses were dulled.

                A hand, pulling him. Something soft and warm was placed beneath the upper half of him, propping him up. Or maybe propping him down. He couldn’t exactly tell: his eyes were closed and not much made sense anymore. His limbs were limp and askew beside him, he lacked the strength to even think of trying to move them. He felt tired and heavy and it was as if his brain had been replaced by cotton. He could no longer feel the rain, only the cold. He wanted to sleep.

                But there was a voice, unintelligible and far, calling his name, sounding so miserable and worried and frantic that Enjolras couldn’t help but to make a little effort to pull his eyelids open, even if just a little bit.

                Only one of his eyes opened, and he blinked sluggishly, vision blurred and swimming. It took him longer than it should have for him to recognize Grantaire, who was on the top of him, holding him, keeping him in place.

                “Oh my fucking – thank god, oh my god, oh my god, Enjolras, stay with me”, he was saying, sobbing, begging, pleading, and his grip on Enjolras grew just a little bit tighter.

                Enjolras tried to speak Grantaire’s name, but no sound made it past his lips. He merely stared, with one eye, at Grantaire’s wet face, hating the way that the rain made the curls look flattened against his forehead. Honestly, he looked ridiculous like that. He tried to raise a hand to move Grantaire’s ridiculous fringe away, but only managed to move his arm halfway before dropping it from exhaustion. It felt so heavy. Everything felt heavy. Especially his eye. The other eye was swollen shut, he figured, but he couldn’t quite remember why.

                “No, no, no, no, Enjolras, no closing your eyes”, Grantaire reprimanded, gently – but fiercely – tapping Enjolras’ face as if to call his attention. Even through his blurry vision, he could see the deep concern in Grantaire’s face, which was enough for him to force himself to keep his eye open, if only for a little bit more.

                He moved his tongue around his mouth but couldn’t form words, just a muffled groan that probably sounded pathetic. Grantaire held him closer, propping Enjolras up into a more comfortable position against the man’s chest.

                “Why did you have to go and do that for, huh?”, Grantaire asked, and there was anger in his tone, above all the worry. “You don’t know how to fucking fight, Enjolras, so why did you get into one?”

                Didn’t Grantaire understand that Enjolras was just trying to protect him? That Enjolras cared about him? That he was willing to do anything to protect him?

                “I’m so sorry”, Grantaire sobbed, before Enjolras could even elaborate some sort of response. “This is all my fault. You told me not to come, and then… I showed up, and now you’re hurt because I was too damn stubborn to just listen to you for once. I know this is on me, and I swear to whatever deity that may be, that I’ll make it up to you, even if I have to work my ass off to take you to the most expensive restaurantinparisandtothenicestplaceyouveverhadadateatandipromiseyouwontregret…

                Why did Grantaire had to speak so much? He was always ranting and talking and interrupting. Enjolras could no longer understand what he was saying, not through the thick cloud that had overcome his brain. His eyes slipped close for a fraction of a second before he was being slapped again. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to open them again, to overcome by tiredness.

                “Please, oh, no, oh, no, Enjolras, you can’t fall asleep, you have to stay awake”, Grantaire was begging him, but it sounded as if Enjolras was underwater. Grantaire’s voice was too muffled, and too far away. Enjolras could faintly feel his own body being shaken, but he was too tired and too sleepy to react or respond. Grantaire was still speaking, but his words no longer made sense. There were pleads, and hints of Enjolras’ name, and love confessions that Enjolras was unable to respond to, as much as he wanted. He ended up being enveloped by darkness and nothingness, and the last coherent thought in his head before he lost consciousness was that, at least, Grantaire was still alive, and that was all that mattered.

                That was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have only the slightest of ideas of how French politics works, so I based some things off the political situation of my own country. If anything sounded too surreal, I apologize.  
> Also, sorry for taking so long with this chapter. I got all caught up on finals. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Edit: I don't know whether or not this interests you, but here is a link (https://www.google.com.br/amp/s/amp.theguardian.com/world/2016/dec/13/brazil-approves-social-spending-freeze-austerity-package) in case you want to read more about the austerity measure that was approved in my country and that freezes public spending for 20 years. This is where I based the motivation of the rally on, but like I said, I have no specific knowledge on French Politics, so I don't know whether or not this would be plausible in the French cenario. In case this chapter is complete bullshit in terms of politics and Constitution, just remember that this is an AU (just kidding. I'll probably just edit it later).


	11. Chapter 11

Everything was a blur of unknown faces and familiar voices telling Enjolras things that he wouldn’t have been able to comprehend, even if he had the hearts to try. His body had become deadweight, his limbs were unmovable and his eyelids were too heavy for him to try and open them. He could still feel the warm blood trickling down the cut on his forehead, down his cheek and his chin and dripping onto his shirt. Each droplet of his own life blood felt itchy against his skin, intense as if it was the only sensation he was capable of feeling, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his arm and wipe it away. There was someone holding him, probably lifting him, but it only made him feel dizzier and nauseous. He no longer remembered where he was – and, since his eyes were closed, he couldn’t check for himself – and all sounds around him were mixing together into a chaotic nonsense that made him flinch. All his senses were overloaded, and the simple “tap-tap-tap” of the footsteps beneath him – probably the person who was carrying him – was enough to make his headache grow further.

                Yes, he had a headache, probably the worst he’d ever had. His best friend would be mad at him for overworking himself again, because this kind of ache only happened to him whenever he sacrificed days of sleep in order to work. He wanted to apologize, but couldn’t remember the friend’s name or the kind of work that he could use as an excuse.

                His body begun to shake with each of his carrier’s footsteps, making Enjolras’ limp limbs rattle and his head bob up and down painfully. If the sensory overload and the headache alone had been enough to make him nauseous, this sort of movement sent bile to his throat, and he retched helplessly. His head was hanging from the edge of something – probably an arm – and he was suffocating on his own sick. He was to disorientated to find that disgusting. Then the world spun around violently and then he was being turned on his side, a hard surface beneath his body as he began vomiting ungracefully on the floor beside him, closed eyes not opening, but actually shutting tighter from the sore taste of the bile and the skull splitting pain that shot up through his head. He made a sound that could have been a sob, but was too tired to be embarrassed by it. A hand that felt like sandpaper wiped something away from his cheek, still talking to him, and Enjolras felt confused and misplaced. He had just fallen asleep, hadn’t he? Why was he conscious again? He just wanted to rest. Just lie back, and rest… He felt so tired…

                There was more movement and the sound of incomprehensible rushed voices. He frowned, annoyed. He wanted to sleep, he was so tired. The ache in his head could be easily ignored, he believed, if only those worried voices could shut up for a second and stop overwhelming his senses…

                A loud slam and an undeniable change in temperature made him slightly more aware of his surroundings. It was no longer that cold – he only noticed how cold he was when the sensation went away – and it was no longer wet. It had been raining, he believed? He couldn’t be sure. But that made no sense. It couldn’t rain inside his house; he had been at home, working, hadn’t he? If he had overworked himself, he had to be either at home or at the Musain, right? And they had ceilings in the Musain. Unless someone broke the ceiling, which would make that chubby old lady who owned the place very, very upset. But how would someone break an entire ceiling?! Maybe that astonishingly beautiful curly haired man whose name Enjolras didn’t remember could have gotten into some sort of accident while he was drunk. That way he could have broken the ceiling, right? And he always seemed to get himself in trouble. But if he suffered an accident, then that meant he was hurt! Enjolras’ heart sped up. He couldn’t remember why, but it was his duty to keep this man safe an unharmed. His limbs finally came to some sort of life and he struggled weakly against whoever was holding him, eyelids parting but only ever managing to see black and white dots dancing in front of his vision.

                “Calm… ok? I… you. Got…you”, the person above him was saying, but Enjolras couldn’t fully comprehend the sentence. It felt as if he was swimming in and out of consciousness every other second. He squinted his eyes, trying to focus on the figure holding him, but couldn’t make out his face.

                “Gotta fin’ him”, Enjolras managed to say, voice merely above a whisper and speech too slurred to be understood perfectly. His eyes were half-open, blindly looking up at his savior’s face without being able to make out their features. “Gotta keep’im safe”, his head fell back and his eyes slipped close again. He was so tired… He couldn’t even remember the man’s name. But he was important to him, Enjolras knew he was. The voice said something that he didn’t bother understanding, and then everything mixed together…

                A sharp, stinging pain on his forehead made him forget about the man and the excuse he’d give for overworking himself, and he couldn’t prevent a loud yelp, numb limbs coming to life again and trying to push away the hand holding his head. Reality became too sharp and real, but he still couldn’t see anything properly. He realized that was because one of his eyes wasn’t opening. Why was that? Had he fallen on his face when he fell asleep? Enjolras hated not remembering. He didn’t manage to lift his arms more than halfway up to his torso, before they fell ungracefully beside him again. Enjolras struggled weakly, wiggling his shoulders and legs without any resemblance to synchrony, trying to shrug away whoever it was holding something against his forehead, making him burn, burn, burn.

                “Please, stop”, he thought he could hear himself saying, but he wasn’t sure if he had just imagined that or if he had actually said the words. Either way, it didn’t make a difference, because the pain lasted long enough for Enjolras to grow accustomed to it right before he lost his senses once more.

                Until there was a shining, too-bright light being forced into his vision, making him wince at the skull-splitting pain that invaded his head. He hissed, unable to move, and there was a grave voice asking him questions that Enjolras forgot about as soon as he heard them. His good eye was open now, but all he could see were blurred faces in contrast with the sharp light behind them, which only made everything look ethereal and dream-like. Maybe he _was_ dreaming. Everything was too confusing and unrememberable to be real. He squinted his eyes, but everything was so tiring and painful. He just wanted to sleep. Was that too much to ask?

                The man was still speaking to him, and Enjolras could make out a slightly familiar form standing behind him, with dark hair and a green shirt. But as curious as he was, Enjolras couldn’t see his face, or remember his name, despite of his brain – or what was left of his brain – screaming at him that it was someone important. Maybe it was _that_ someone that Enjolras had been worried about. The man kept talking and Enjolras kept not-listening, eyes trying to focus on the mysterious green man behind the old one. He needed to see his face. He needed to know he was ok. The shadow of a name hovered on the tip of Enjolras’ tongue, and just as he opened his mouth to speak – what he was going to say to the figure, he didn’t know yet –, exhaustion became too much and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He lost consciousness for good.

-

                When he woke up, his brain felt like he had been replaced by cotton and the sharp sting on his forehead was somewhat grounding, at least. Opening his eyelids was, by far, one of the most difficult tasks he had ever accomplished, but after what felt like lifetimes of attempts, he managed to do so. One of his eyes was still swollen, but Enjolras could see out of it, now, even though it only opened half-way. He desperately wanted to rub it, but some sort of self-preservation inside his head prevented him from doing so. He blinked sluggishly until his eyes gained full focus, and then he turned his – slightly achy – head to the side.

                The first thing he saw was Combeferre, who was sitting by his bed and had what looked to be a newspaper in his hands. His form was still a little blurred to Enjolras’ eyes, but still, Enjolras could see the dark bags beneath his glasses and the worried frown on his brow. He didn’t look like he had gotten much sleep. Behind him, the tone of the wall and the hand sanitizer glued to the it hinted Enjolras that he was in a hospital. The offending smell of the sanitizer and the fabric of the sheet covering his torso just confirmed his theory. But why was he there?

                “Hey”, Enjolras tried to speak, but his throat was sore and raspy and all he managed to emit was a groan that didn’t resemble his voice at all. Combeferre startled at this, making a little jolting movement on the chair and nearly dropping the newspaper, before setting it to the side and adjusting his glasses against his face.

                “Oh, thank god”, he exhaled sharply, shoulders dropping, relief evident in his voice, which was low and barely above a whisper. He stood up from his – seemingly uncomfortable – chair and disappeared from Enjolras’ field of vision, only to return after a few seconds bearing a water jar and a plastic cup with a straw, which he placed in front of Enjolras’ face. “Drink it up”, Combeferre instructed, and Enjolras, who didn’t have much energy to be petty, did as he was told. The cool water made his throat sting, at the first gulp, but then it soothed him. He turned his head away when he was done, and Combeferre took the jar and the cup away before sitting back down on his chair beside Enjolras. “You gave us quite a scare. It’s nice to see you fully conscious for a change”, Combeferre said in an absentminded tone, but Enjolras could see the remaining tension in his shoulders.

                “What… do you mean?”, Enjolras frowned. He remembered very little about what had happened. There was a protest, and then… everything was a blur of information. He had no idea why he was lying on this hospital bed, or why his head felt so uncomfortable. His brain was too sluggish and slow for his liking, and it felt as if the inside of his skull had been replaced by wool.

                “You’ve been getting in and out of conscious for the past hours”, Combeferre explained with a sigh, rubbing his eyes from beneath his glasses and then pushing them up the bridge of his nose again. “You weren’t very… coherent”, he said vaguely. Enjolras frowned, swallowing dry.

                “What happened?”, Enjolras asked, trying to prop himself up against the pillows but failing to do so. Combeferre gave him a reprehending stare that said that sitting up wasn’t a good idea, and Enjolras, for once, didn’t argue and remained still. He still felt exhausted and achy all over.

                “What do you remember?”, Combeferre asked, raising an eyebrow. Enjolras’ frown deepened as he tried to recall anything that could have happened after the protest begun, but couldn’t. There was only blankness in his mind.

                “I was at the protest”, he said, with some difficulty due to the remaining sluggishness of his tongue. “Then it was my turn to speak, and I took the megaphone…”, he paused, trying to remember. “And then everything went black. I don’t remember anything else”, he said, unable to keep the frustration from his tone. Combeferre nodded, a comprehending look in his face.

                “Right after you started to speak, someone started a disruption in the crowd and it all became a chaos”, Combeferre explained, absentmindedly taking his glasses off and cleaning the lenses with the edge of his shirt. “Courfeyrac has looked into it while you were here and found out that an anti-LGBT group infiltrated such disruptors into our crowd to try and make our pacifist group look… not very _friendly_. The police are looking into it too, since there were many store panes and banks broken. They will probably want to talk to you after you’re released, too, since you were one of the organizers of the protest. They have already talked to the others”.

                Enjolras groaned loudly and let his head fall back against the pillows, an annoyed look in his face. He hated talking to the police, especially after a protest-gone-wrong situation. They always tried to shift the blame to Enjolras, as if he loved inciting chaos and violence across the city. Enjolras had been one of the _victims_ , for heaven’s sake.

                “Don’t worry, me and Courf have gathered solid proof that those disruptors in the protest had nothing to do with our group or any of the others gathered there. That is already settled. But you still have to talk to the police anyway, because of your assaulters”, Combeferre clarified.

                “What?”, Enjolras frowned again, lifting his head to look at his friend properly. Combeferre put his glasses back on and sighed before continuing.

                “The men who assaulted you have been arrested and the police is waiting for you to recognize them. It’s standard procedure”, he explained. Upon Enjolras’ questioning look, he realized that the leader probably didn’t recall the situation Combeferre was talking about. “Oh. Right”, he cleared his throat. “You saw two men attacking Grantaire”, Combeferre raised an eyebrow as he spoke. “And then you helped him. But the men recognized you as one of the speakers and beat you unconscious. You have a nasty concussion and two bruised ribs. We’ll have a talk about that when you’re feeling better”, Combeferre promised with a friendly, yet slightly threatening tone.

                “That explains why my head feels like mashed potato”, Enjolras commented absentmindedly.

                “It should feel”, Combeferre said with an astounded expression. “They literally shattered a protest sign to pieces on your head. Your face was a mess when you arrived at the hospital”.

                Enjolras faintly recalled what Combeferre was telling him, memories of wood colliding with his face and splinters embedding in his skin, blood and sweat trickling down his forehead and making his eyes sting. The sound of thunder, the feeling of raindrops against his face, the sound of a desperate voice calling his name over and over as he fought the slumber trying to overcome him.

                “Anyway”, Combeferre continued, unaware of Enjolras’ realization. “You’ve been out for nearly a day. But I don’t presume that you’ll have to stay here much longer, now that you’ve properly woken up, instead of just babbling for Grantaire. The doctor will probably just want to keep you overnight before he releases –“

                “What?”, Enjolras interrupted, brain finally catching up with what Combeferre was saying. “Babbling?”, he frowned, feeling the blood rise to his cheek.

                “Oh, yes”, Combeferre rolled his eyes, leaning back against the chair. “This is the first time you’ve actually reached full consciousness. Before, you’d just wake up, look around and ask ludicrous questions about Grantaire’s whereabouts and safety, before passing out again”.

                Enjolras groaned in embarrassment, covering his face with both hands, before the most important question regarding that matter hit him like a brick to the face. He had been so confused and amnesiac that he didn’t even think to ask about Grantaire. He stared up at Combeferre with wide eyes, remembering that the last that he’d seen of Grantaire was the man being strangled.

                “Where’s R?”, Enjolras asked, anxiety making his heart beat faster. “Is he ok?”

                “Oh, not this again”, Combeferre sighed, exasperated, allowing his arms to drop from the chair and hang beside his legs. “I’ve told you, Enjolras, a million times. He’s right over there”, Combeferre pointed to the opposite side of the bedroom, and Enjolras turned his head to find a sleeping Grantaire, lying on his belly on the visitor’s couch. His mouth was wide open in exhaustion and he was drooling on the couch as a soft snore was emitted from his throat. One of his arms hung from the couch, hand twisted in what could only be an uncomfortable position where it met the floor. Grantaire was too tall for that small couch, which made his legs bend slightly upwards where his knees met the armrest. His knuckles were covered in bandages, Enjolras noticed, and one of his eyes – the one that wasn’t covered by a ridiculously thick amount of black curls – had a dark purple tone. His lower lip was still split, but it looked like it had begun to heal already. He looked absolutely exhausted, clothes disheveled and still bloodied. He probably hadn’t made it home since the protest.

                “It took three hours for me to convince him to go to sleep”, Combeferre continued absentmindedly, ignoring the way Enjolras’ eyes sparkled as soon as they laid on Grantaire’s sleeping form. “He wouldn’t stop fussing. He was pretty worried”, Combeferre raised his eyebrow again.

                “He must have been”, Enjolras commented halfheartedly, eyes never leaving Grantaire’s sleeping form on the couch beside his bed.

                “He was the one who brought you to the hospital”, Combeferre continued, eyes fixed on Enjolras face as if to capture his reactions. “I mean, Courf drove the two of you, but Grantaire refused to leave your side until he was threatened to be thrown out by security. They had to physically restrain him to keep him from following you”.

                “Why?”, Enjolras frowned, finally turning to Combeferre.

                “He was worried, Enjolras”, he explained calmly. “Actually, I had never seen Grantaire in that state that for all the time I’ve known him. He was _desperate_. I couldn’t even bring myself to be mad at him for showing up at the protest after you asked him not to, because he wouldn’t stop crying”.

Combeferre faintly wondered if that was right of him to share that with Enjolras, but all the Amis had seen the scene. Jehan had held Grantaire in his arms as he sobbed helplessly on the floor of the hospital’s corridor, and Joly had offered the cynic comforting words when he began spluttering self-deprecation and self-blame all over them. Grantaire blamed himself for Enjolras being hurt, because if he hadn’t attended to the protest (as Enjolras had begged him to), then the leader wouldn’t have needed to protect him and, therefore, get beaten up. He had cried for nearly an hour straight, and Combeferre decided that he wasn’t gossiping. If Enjolras didn’t hear the story from Combeferre, then Courfeyrac would eventually tell him.

                Enjolras, on the other hand, was at a loss for words. He turned his head so that he could stare at Grantaire again. The position his body was lying at only showed how tired he must have been. And even being that tired, he hadn’t gone back home. He had stayed by Enjolras’ side, loyally, waiting for him. Something warm blossomed inside of Enjolras’ chest.

                His eyes, however, only grew more and more unfocused with each blink, and only then Enjolras realized how heavy his limbs still were. Combeferre must have noticed that his friend’s movements became more sluggish by the second, because he clicked his tongue in a paternal way and got up from his chair, tucking the blankets more carefully around Enjolras.

                “You should rest”, he commented, not expecting a response from the story he had just told Enjolras.

                “Haven’t I been asleep for a day?”, Enjolras frowned, but the slow way he spoke the words only denounced how tired he was actually feeling.

                “Yes, but you have a head injury”, Combeferre rolled his eyes affectionately at Enjolras’ stubbornness. “You need to rest properly if you want to recover. As I said, you’ll probably be released tomorrow morning”, after a silent moment of thought, Combeferre added: “That doesn’t mean you’ll go on and about your life. You’ll still need plenty of bed rest, young mister”.

                “I have no time to lose”, Enjolras commented stubbornly. Combeferre eyed him warily. “You know that, Ferre”, he added, mustering all the seriousness he could.

                “I won’t have this conversation with you right now”, Combeferre said after a small pause. “You’re still recovering. We can discuss this later. For now, rest”.

                Enjolras hesitated, and finally the information he had just received from Combeferre clicked in his brain. Before he could fall asleep – he was too tired to remain awake much longer – he needed to know.

                “Ferre”, Enjolras called, and his best friend stared down at him with a paternal expression. “What about the voting?”

                That had been the whole point of the protest, hadn’t it? To stop that ridiculous law from being voted? To stop things from getting worse?

                “Postponed”, Combeferre said simply, retrieving the newspaper from where it had been lying forgotten on the chair and throwing it unceremoniously at Enjolras’ lap. It took the leader a great effort to pick it up, from the way his limbs were heavy, but when he did, he turned it around to stare at the cape.

                The front of the newspaper showed a desperate-looking Grantaire, eyes searching the crowd manically and with his mouth open wide as if in a scream for help, tears streaming down his dusty cheeks. His hair was disheveled and sweaty, and there were droplets of blood on his cheek. His split lower lip was bleeding and one of his eyes was black. He was standing upright, but barely so, body arched to the side as he did his best to sustain the weight of Enjolras, who had one of his arms thrown behind Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire was holding Enjolras’ arm and using his other hand to hold Enjolras’ waist and keep him in a somewhat upright position, despite of the way the leader’s head was lolled to the side and his limbs were limp in Grantaire’s grasp.

                Combeferre was right. His face did look like a mess.

                Enjolras’ face was completely covered in blood and there was a visible cut on his forehead. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut, and his blond hair was matted with drying blood and splinters of wood. In fact, what seemed to be hundreds of splinters were embedded to his face, and Enjolras couldn’t help but to raise his shaky hand to his cheek, feeling the scraps and the band-aids covering most of it. The front of Enjolras’ shirt was covered in blood, and so was Grantaire’s, and behind them, there was a broken, bloodied sign on the floor that read “We must fight for what is right”. The photographer who captured that image, of a desperate Grantaire trying to drag an unconscious, injured Enjolras away from a mess of pepper spray and smoke, had really done a terrific job. Even Enjolras was astounded by the power of that photograph. The headline of the newspaper read: “POLICE BRUTALITY SENDS AT LEAST 50 PROTESTORS TO THE ER. Victims were protesting against a new law that would cut off public spending for an undetermined amount of time”.

                Enjolras blinked. The headline sounded… almost… sympathetic to their cause? Enjolras was so used to having his group being bashed by the media that he was sincerely taken aback that they had picked his side for once. He opened the newspaper to read the issue but Combeferre yanked it away from his hands before he could get to the right page.

                “There’s nothing in there that you can’t read later, after you rest”, Combeferre explained, folding the news and shoving it beneath his armpit. “The voting was postponed and most certainly will be cancelled. As I said, you’ve been out for a day, and a lot has happened since. Not only Courf and I managed to prove that our group had nothing to do with the violence in the rally, but also several other groups organized other protests against this voting. The media is on our side for once, and no one is particularly happy with the fact that those politicians would do such a voting in the dark. For now, everything will be ok”, Combeferre reassured. “But you need to rest in order to get better”.

                Enjolras wanted to argue with Combeferre, to tell him that he wasn’t an invalid and that he was perfectly able to read a newspaper before going to sleep; that he really didn’t have time to lose with bedrest and recovery when he should be seizing his time with Grantaire. But he felt too tired to argue. His limbs – and eyelids – were too heavy, and his vision was already swimming from tiredness. So instead of arguing, he nodded his head, allowing his eyes to slip close for just a second, just to make the blurriness go away so that he could see Ferre’s face properly…

                When he reopened his eyes, it was dark and the chair beside him was empty. Enjolras swallowed dry, blinking sluggishly and looking around the room in confusion. Had he fallen asleep? If so, for how long? He turned his head to look at the couch but his neck was sore and he hissed, even though he didn’t mean to.

                Grantaire, who had been lying on the couch, jolted into a sitting position. He had been awake for the past half-hour, but couldn’t bring himself to get up. Now that he heard Enjolras was awake, there was no reason for him to lie down and play dead anymore. He got to his feet, albeit a little unbalanced, and made his way to Enjolras’ bed, slowly and carefully. Enjolras blinked up at him, still a little groggy, and his lips slowly curled up into a heartfelt smile as he made sense of who was standing above him.

                “Hey there, chief”, Grantaire greeted, a smile appearing on his own lips, even though it was smaller and a bit more hesitant than Enjolras’.

                “Hey”, Enjolras croaked, throat still a little dry. “How are you?”

                Grantaire gave Enjolras a look of sheer confusion and disbelief, before letting out a humorous scoff. His head dropped as he leaned both hands on the edge of Enjolras’ bed and he shook it, giggling loudly. Enjolras frowned.

                “What?”, he asked, confused and a little offended that Grantaire was laughing at his worry.

                “It’s just…”, Grantaire raised his face, still laughing and staring at Enjolras as if he had never seen anything more precious in his life. He let out a few chocked breaths before continuing. “You’re really one of a kind”, he commented with a fond look on his face.

                “What do you mean?”, Enjolras’ frown deepened, and he couldn’t know if his confusion was justified or if his brain was just still sluggish. Either way, he hated feeling like this, as if he couldn’t keep up with someone else’s thoughts.

                “You’re literally lying in a hospital bed after suffering what must have been the worst concussion in human history”, Grantaire said, raising his eyebrow in astonishment in a way that was very similar to Combeferre’s expression from earlier. “And you’re asking _me_ if _I’m_ fine”.

                “Well, that’s because I care about you”, Enjolras stated matter-of-factly. Why did Grantaire have so much difficulty accepting that? The cynic’s face dropped and all of a sudden he looked sadder than before. Enjolras’ heart leaped inside his chest at the sight of Grantaire’s head dropping, this time not due to laughter, but to defeat. Had he said something wrong?

                “Yeah”, Grantaire nodded, not meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “Yeah, you’re right”, he let out a sigh. “You care about me. And I’m a fucking idiot”.

                Enjolras blinked, once again not following Grantaire’s line of thought.

                “I don’t think I know what you mean”, Enjolras said, still having a little trouble to say the words fast enough. He was still feeling pretty slow and sluggish. Grantaire let out another scoff, but this time, it had no humor in it. It was actually rather self-deprecating.

                “I should have listened to you”, Grantaire said, still not looking Enjolras in the eyes. He looked upset as he spoke. “I should have listened and… stayed away like you asked me to. But I didn’t, and I ended up getting you into the hospital _. Again_ ”, he muttered the last word.

                Enjolras stared at Grantaire for a couple of seconds before outstretching a hand to grab hold of Grantaire’s. The cynic was still refusing to lock eyes with Enjolras, but he didn’t think anything of it. Were he in Grantaire’s place, he would probably be upset, too.

                “R”, Enjolras called patiently. “It’s ok. I don’t blame you”.

                “How can you not?”, Grantaire shook his head again, and Enjolras thought he could see a glister in the man’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, and oh, oh no, was Grantaire crying? “You wouldn’t have gotten into that mess if it weren’t for me. You… you…”, Grantaire exhaled heavily, head sinking between his tense shoulders. Enjolras noticed a slight tremble in his hands, as if his arms weren’t able to keep sustaining the weight Grantaire was leaning on the bed. “I thought you had died”.

                Enjolras’ heart tightened. He understood what Grantaire was going through, he really did. Enjolras had gone through that.

                Enjolras had lost Grantaire.

                What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to comfort him? In the day after Grantaire’s death, Enjolras had been angry. He had cursed himself, he had cursed _Grantaire_ , throwing glasses and photo frames and every breakable thing he could find in his way. If Combeferre hadn’t showed up to take him to Grantaire’s funeral, he would have probably ended up injuring himself with all the broken glass scattered across his apartment. Courfeyrac and Combeferre, bless them, had been considerate enough to clean after Enjolras as he sobbed himself to sleep, and Enjolras wouldn’t even have known that his friends had been to his place were it not for the note Combeferre left at his fridge and the subtle glistening of his recently cleaned floor.

                The truth was, Enjolras couldn’t understand why Grantaire had sacrificed himself to save him. He had never been able to understand what drove the cynic to lay down his life, so easily, so undoubtfully, for a man that barely gave him any sort of positive attention. He had been mad at Grantaire, for giving his life for Enjolras’, and he had tried to bring himself to hate him. Grief, of course, was the feeling that overtook all of Enjolras’ emotions and soon he was found too helpless to be angry anymore. It took only  a few days for him to go to Grantaire’s facebook and cry while scrolling through his pictures, but the first emotion Enjolras felt after the shock of hearing about Grantaire’s death was pure, uncontrollable anger, both at himself and at Grantaire.

                But now, he could understand, or at least just a little bit. Seeing Grantaire like that, looking so sorrowful and with tear-filled eyes, blaming himself for what had happened to Enjolras even though it wasn’t his fault… Enjolras could put himself in Grantaire’s place. He had been there before. Except he was very much alive, while Grantaire had died for his sacrifice. It took all of Enjolras’ strength to raise his still heavy arm and touch Grantaire’s face gently, allowing his thumb to wipe away the tear that was threatening to fall from the cynic’s eye. Enjolras couldn’t remember seeing Grantaire cry before, but maybe it was just the amnesia. Either way, it wasn’t a sight he liked to see. Grantaire deserved to smile and be happy. And Enjolras hated himself just a little bit for being the one responsible for Grantaire’s tears.

                “I’m not dead”, Enjolras told him softly. Grantaire sniffed at the words. “I’m right here”, he took one of Grantaire’s hand and pulled it towards his chest, holding the outstretched palm splayed right above his heart. Grantaire finally dared to meet Enjolras’ eyes, and the leader tried to smile reassuringly at him.

                “I’m sorry, Enjolras”, Grantaire apologized, and his voice sounded shaky and constricted. “I should have listened to you. I shouldn’t have gone to the protest”.

                “I know”, Enjolras nodded patiently. “But it’s ok. What is done, is done. I forgive you”. Those were the words he would have probably wanted Grantaire to tell him, after his death. You are forgiven. You are not to blame. It’s ok. It’s going to be ok.

                “I’m such a fucking mess”, Grantaire half-sobbed, retrieving the hand on Enjolras’ chest and covering his face. Enjolras unconsciously pouted at the absence of Grantaire’s touch. “You’re injured and probably hurting and I’m here sobbing by your bedside instead of helping you”, he complained, sounding disgusted.

                “I don’t need help”, Enjolras retorted, trying to comfort his boyfriend. “I’m feeling much better than before”.

                “You weren’t even coherent before, Enjolras”, Grantaire said, using his shaky hand to throw his hair back. “You couldn’t stay awake for more than a couple minutes. I was scared half to death”, he admitted with a trembling sigh.

                “I woke up earlier”, Enjolras explained. “You were asleep”.

                Grantaire paused, frowning. The curls he had been pushing back fell again on his forehead, covering his eyes partially. Enjolras found that cute.

                “You… you did?”, Grantaire asked, hesitating.

                “Yes”, Enjolras said. “Combeferre told me what happened. I didn’t remember anything”.

                “And… what do you remember now?”, Grantaire asked, almost uncertain.

                “Well…”, Enjolras swallowed dry, frowning as he did his best to recall the events from the past they. “I remember everything up to the point where I took the megaphone… Then I saw you, and then everything is sort of a blur… You were being chocked, and then I jumped on the man, and all I can remember is being hit with something really hard and waking up here”, Enjolras shrugged. One of his eyes itched, but something told him he shouldn’t touch it.

                “Yeah… yeah, that’s basically it”, Grantaire nodded with a grim expression.

                “But Combeferre told me that I should be released by the morning”, Enjolras continued, offering Grantaire a tentative smile. “So that means I’m alright. You don’t need to worry”.

                Grantaire scoffed humorlessly, taking Enjolras’ hand into his. He dragged the chair Combeferre had sat on earlier closer and sat beside Enjolras’ head.

                “How can I not worry when you’re still all bandaged up in this bed, huh?”, he said affectionately, caressing the back of Enjolras’ hand with his thumb. Enjolras frowned, raising his hand to his head. There was, indeed, a bandage around it, that he hadn’t noticed before. He blushed. He must look ridiculous.

                “Oh. I didn’t know about that”, Enjolras commented, sincerely surprised.

                “Oh, it’s probably just Joly being melodramatic. But it makes you look cute, anyway”, Grantaire commented, and even though there was a smile on his lips, it looked sad and forced.

                “It does?”, Enjolras encouraged, smiling at his boyfriend.

                “Yes”, Grantaire rolled his eyes affectionately, leaning closer to Enjolras. There was a small pause before he spoke. “I’m really sorry, E”.

                “I know”, Enjolras reassured him once again, squeezing the cynic’s hand. “I told you I forgive you. It’s ok. I’m ok, now”.

                “I won’t believe you until you’re out of here and lying down on your own bed being all grumpy because I’m babysitting you”, Grantaire said, going back to caressing Enjolras’ hand.

                “Babysitting me?”, Enjolras chuckled, raising an amused eyebrow.

                “Well, yes”, Grantaire shrugged with a smile. “If I don’t, Combeferre will have my head. I’m not sure why he hasn’t yelled at me yet”, his smile faltered a bit, almost unnoticeably.

                “He hasn’t yell at you because he knows this wasn’t your fault”, Enjolras smiled patiently.

                “Well”, Grantaire shrugged with that look on his face that told Enjolras he was about to start disagreeing with him. “You said that your anaphylaxis wasn’t my fault, either, and Combeferre yelled at me anyway”. He looked at Enjolras with a raised eyebrow, as if daring the leader to defy him.

                “That was a different situation”, Enjolras tried to keep his cool. “Trust me, R, I don’t blame you for any of this”, he squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “And you shouldn’t dwell on it. I told you, I’ll be released tomorrow. Everything will go back to the way it was, ok? We’ll be back to our tango practices in no time”, he said with humor. He was actually looking forward for those practices… Being close to Grantaire, hugging him, holding him close as they moved in synchrony. Enjolras might not be very good at dancing, but as long as he was dancing with his boyfriend, he would be content. However, Grantaire looked up at him as if Enjolras was out of his mind, a nearly offended frown on his face as he glared at the leader.

                “Tango practices?”, Grantaire asked, indignant. Enjolras blinked in confusion, unsure of what he could say. “Enjolras, are you _serious_? You nearly died barely a day ago; do you think I give a shit about that tango contest?”

                Enjolras was taken aback by Grantaire’s sudden aggressive tone, mimicking the cynic’s frown. He had been expecting Grantaire to be happy with them returning to normality, but that was clearly not the case.

                “I thought you were dead in my arms”, Grantaire continued, face twisting in a self-deprecating scowl. It looked like he didn’t believe Enjolras had the audacity to talk about tango on that moment, even though Enjolras had no idea what was the matter with talking about that. Enjolras realized that Grantaire’s façade had just broke, and all the emotions he had been keeping bottled up ever since he realized Enjolras was conscious were finally seeping through his mask of calmness. “I thought you had died and I had been the one who gotten you killed. There was so much blood and your eye was completely swollen and you could barely breathe and you passed out in my arms and all you did was babble incoherent things until you stopped doing even that. You’re always so eloquent and good with words but you couldn’t even form a full sentence and I was terrified that I had done that to you. That… that I had ruined you, that you wouldn’t be able to do what you love the most anymore, that you would die, and I can’t fucking live with the weight of your loss in my shoulders, I just can’t, because you’re everything to me and it was my fucking fault you’re in this hospital bed with your face full of bandages and band-aids and I just can’t…”, he took in a deep, shaky breath, and only then Enjolras realized that Grantaire was frantically trying to keep himself from crying, even though there were tears running down his cheeks and his lower lip was quivering. He had to take deep, loud breaths to try and control himself before continuing. “I’m so sorry, Enjolras, but how can you think about the fucking tango right now when you nearly died and it was my fault”, Grantaire finally let out a sob, shoulders dropping as he sunk onto himself.

                Enjolras tried to prop himself up on the bed, so that he could at least be at the same eye level as Grantaire. He did so with only a little bit of difficulty – way less than on the previous day – and soon he was sitting against the pillows on the mattress, despite of the slight dizziness the sudden change of positions made him feel. Grantaire, on the other hand, had his face hidden by both hands as he breathed loudly, shoulders shaking with each silent sob. His elbows were leaning on his knees, and he could have been in a somewhat fetal position, had he been lying on the floor. Enjolras mustered all the energy he had to drag his still too-heavy body towards the edge of the bed, so that he could get closer to Grantaire. Once he was close enough without risking to fall off, he allowed himself one last effort to reach for the cynic and envelop him in a tight, comforting hug.

                “R, please listen to me”, Enjolras said at the same time he tried to shush Grantaire, allowing his hand to trace soothing patterns on the cynic’s back. “Please. I do not blame you for anything that happened. If I hadn’t helped you, I would have helped another person. You’re not responsible for my life, and you don’t need to bear this weight. I told you I forgive you, and I understand you must be feeling guilty but it’s over now. Ok? It’s over. I’m alright. I’m here. I’m alive”, he said, allowing himself to drop a kiss on the top of Grantaire’s head. This only earned a loud sob.

                “How can you say this?”, Grantaire shook his head, looking up to meet Enjolras’ eyes but never breaking their embrace. “How can you forgive me so easily?”

                “Because I love you”, Enjolras said without hesitation, not breaking eye-contact with his boyfriend. “And because you’re not at fault for any of this”.

                Grantaire stared at Enjolras dumbfoundedly before pulling him into a desperate, breathtaking kiss.

                It only lasted for a few seconds and it did make Enjolras lose most of the little balance he had, but it was perfect and it was theirs. It made Enjolras’ chest flutter with contentment, and a flush made its way to his cheeks as soon as his lips connected with Grantaire’s. The cynic broke away before they could get into anything more serious, looking embarrassed and still dumbfounded.

                “I missed that”, Enjolras ended up saying without meaning to. A hint of a smile appeared on Grantaire’s lips, but it was gone before it was completed. Enjolras frowned. “What’s wrong?”

                “I…”, Grantaire wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before continuing. “I don’t deserve you”, he admitted, staring down at his own hands. Enjolras stared at him in disbelief for several moments.

                How could Grantaire think so low of himself? Of course he deserved Enjolras. He was a brave, kind and loyal man who deserved all the best things in the world. Enjolras, on the other hand, had always mistreated Grantaire in the past, and not only got him killed but also omitted important truths from his boyfriend, truths that could change (what was left of) his life. It was Enjolras who didn’t deserve Grantaire, and not the other way around.

                Enjolras’ grip on Grantaire’s shirt tightened and he used the last scrap of strength he still had to pull his boyfriend closer to himself. Grantaire allowed himself to be pulled without complaint, still not meeting Enjolras’ eyes. Enjolras used his other hand to tilt Grantaire’s chin upwards, forcing the cynic to meet his firm, deep gaze.

                “Don’t you. _Ever_. Say that again”, Enjolras said fiercely. “Don’t you ever diminish yourself like that again. You are the most wonderful man I know, and you deserve all the best things in the world. You deserve happiness, and beauty, and love. You are as much deserving of my love as I am of yours”, Enjolras said seriously, measuring the weight of his every word as he spoke them, despite of the increasing migraine appearing on the back of his head. Grantaire stared at him with something akin to… fear?

                No. It was adoration.

                “Apollo”, Grantaire whispered like a prayer.

                “ _Enjolras_ ”, Enjolras whispered ominously. And then he pulled Grantaire into a stronger, fiercer kiss that lasted longer than the previous one and left them both panting for air. Enjolras fell back against the pillows, body too tired and heavy for him to remain upright. Grantaire seemed to have finally noticed how worn out Enjolras was, because he sat up straighter on the chair, throwing his hair back with one hand.

                “You should probably go to sleep. It’s nearly three a.m.”, Grantaire said with a smirk. “I can leave the task of continuously apologizing to you for tomorrow”.

                “You don’t need to apologize for anything”, Enjolras rolled his eyes, despite of Grantaire’s chuckle that signaled he had been joking. The leader allowed himself to slid back into a lying position, but he never let go of Grantaire’s hand.

                “Go to sleep, chief”, Grantaire said affectionately, burying one of his hands in Enjolras’ curls and caressing his scalp softly. Enjolras hummed in pleasure, allowing his eyelids to slip shut. Grantaire leaned forwards to place a kiss on the tip of Enjolras’ nose. “I’ll be here when you wake up”.

                “Promise?”, Enjolras asked, reopening his eyes just so that he could see Grantaire, in a tone that could have been childish, were he not lying in a hospital bed.

                “I promise”, Grantaire chuckled. He bent over in the chair so that he could rest his head on the mattress beside of Enjolras’ hand, but he never stopped caressing the leader’s curls. In some sort of meek retribution, Enjolras buried his fingers into Grantaire’s curls as well, caressing them just as the cynic was caressing his.

                “This position can’t be comfortable”, Enjolras commented absentmindedly after a few seconds. Grantaire hummed on the back of his throat.

                “I don’t care. As long as I’m with you”, he shrugged, eyes closed.

                “Isn’t it better if you lie down on the couch?”, Enjolras suggested, eyes closed too. Their conversation was growing sleepier by the second.

                “If you want me to fuck off, then just tell me to fuck off”, Grantaire said uninterestedly, almost lazily. “If you’re just trying to be polite, then you can fuck off yourself. Unless you want me gone, I ain’t letting you out of my sight”.

                Enjolras chuckled at this, playfully tugging at one of Grantaire’s curls. Grantaire did the same to one of his, albeit more carefully as if not to hurt Enjolras, just tease him.

                “Your back will be sore when you wake up”, Enjolras said, and then he yawned.

                “Stop worrying about my back and go to sleep”, Grantaire said, placing a sloppy kiss on the inner of Enjolras’ forearm – the only part of his body he could reach without effort. “I promised I’d be here when you wake up and I’m a man of my word”.

                Enjolras would have argued, but closing his eyes made him feel sleepier than ever. Before he could even formulate a response, or a way to convince Grantaire to get into a more comfortable position, his mind begun to drift off and he was too lazy to fight sleep. As he entered the realm of unconsciousness, he felt more relaxed than ever, for at least this time, Grantaire was right by his side, and Enjolras could rest at ease for once.

-

                When he woke up, he found Combeferre sitting by his side again, arms crossed above his chest and head thrown back over the edge of the chair’s backrest. He had picked another plastic chair and placed it on the opposite side of his bed, as not to disrupt Grantaire, who was still fast asleep with his head leaning on the bed beside Enjolras. Combeferre, too, seemed to be fast asleep, and Enjolras didn’t want to disrupt his best friend, either. So he lied quietly on the bed, noticing his hand was still buried in Grantaire’s curls.

                Looking at the thin streak of light coming from beneath the windows’ drawn curtains, Enjolras deduced it should be morning already. He hated losing track of time like this, and his phone was nowhere to be seen for him to check the time. Despite that, he felt a lot better than he had on the last time he had woken up, if only a bit tired.

                But he would be released from the hospital soon, and be able to return to his daily routine. He’d be able to go back to spending time with Grantaire, and now that this voting issue was settled, Enjolras could relax a little. Just the idea of being free from that sickening white room made Enjolras smile with relief, and he even allowed his eyes to drift shut, just for a bit, just so that he could rest a little more before finally getting up. Grantaire and Combeferre were still asleep, anyway…

                And then there was a clicking sound on the door and Enjolras impulsively reopened his eyes, turning his head to see who was it entering the room. His stomach dropped and all the blood left his face as soon as he spotted the ominous figure of his father standing by the door.

                Enjolras blinked several times, trying to keep the anger and the frustration from his face as he stared up at the man who called himself his father, increasingly approaching his bed until he was standing right in front of it. He had that everlasting disdainful look on his face as he took in the image of the sleeping Combeferre and Grantaire, and his nose scrunched up when he realized that Enjolras’ hand was still buried on Grantaire’s curls.

                And of course, everything clicked together. Enjolras was too busy catching up with what had happened to him and his relationship with Grantaire to even realize that he was in a _private room._ And there was no reason for him to be in a private room unless his father had meddled with his business.

                “Hello, father”, Enjolras greeted dryly, making sure to mimic his father’s disdain as he spoke.

                “Enjolras”, his father nodded, still looking around the room as if it didn’t please him at all. He was wearing his customary fancy suit, and his briefcase was in hands, which meant he had just came back from work.

                “To what do I owe your visit?”, Enjolras asked, making sure that every single drop of sarcasm made its way to his tone. His father scowled.

                “Seems you would have been lying forgotten and half-dead in a corridor somewhere had I not… intervened”, his father replied, tilting his chin upwards. “You should be thanking me, actually”, he added with a humorless smile that couldn’t even be considered polite.

                “I didn’t ask you for anything”, Enjolras replied without hesitation, thankful that he had kept any sort of trembling from his voice. Combeferre stirred on the chair beside him, blinking his way to consciousness and adjusting his glasses on his face. He starred at Enjolras in confusion before noticing that Enjolras’ father was in the room. The surprise in his face vanished to give place to disdain. Enjolras’ father rolled his eyes.

                Enjolras, on the other hand, was trying to get into a sitting position on the bed, so that he could look at his father properly. This ended up rousing Grantaire to consciousness, and he looked around with glassy eyes before finally focusing on Enjolras’ stern face, who was still looking up at his father with defiance.

                “I take this is your… _boyfriend_ ”, his father said the words with something that almost sounded like repulse, scrunching up his nose again as he stared down at the disheveled Grantaire, who was still trying to make sense of what was happening. Grantaire stared up at Enjolras’ father with a gape, eyes widening in realization. He turned his head to look at the leader, who had a warning look in his face. Enjolras merely nodded, and Grantaire allowed his lips to slip shut.

                “Yes. This is my boyfriend, Grantaire”, Enjolras said dryly. His father rolled his eyes.

                “N-nice to… er, nice to meet you?”, Grantaire frowned, outstretching a hand towards Enjolras’ father as if he expected him to shake it. The man, however, stared down at Grantaire’s hand with disgust, and made no sign that he intended to take it. Grantaire retrieved his hand with a fake-surprised expression, chuckling. “Alright. We already know that you didn’t get your politeness from him”, Grantaire told Enjolras, who had to do his best to keep himself from smirking. Enjolras’ father looked offended.

                “How pathetic, Enjolras, that you have decided to indulge in relationship with alley rats and stray dogs rather than staying with the upper class where you belong”, Enjolras’ father said, looking at Grantaire through the corner of his eye. Grantaire chuckled, but said nothing. Combeferre sent the cynic a warning look, from where he was sitting on the opposite side of Enjolras’ bed.

                “I am the one who decides who I _indulge_ in a relationship with”, Enjolras answered shortly. “And I believe I asked you to what I owe your most _unpleasant_ visit, I must say”.

                “I told you already”, his father said, pacing slowly around the room as if checking if it was good enough for his son. “Were it not for me, you would be lying forgotten and untreated on a corner somewhere. I paid so that you had the best doctors taking care of you, to make sure that you wouldn’t show around with some sort of brain damage to burden your mother with”.

                Enjolras scowled at this, and had to fight very hard to keep himself from crying. He wouldn’t give his father that sort of satisfaction, no matter how much his words always hurt his feelings. Beside him, he could feel both Grantaire and Combeferre tightening their hands into fists.

                “Well, you already see that is not the case”, Enjolras said, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. “No need to worry about me _burdening_ you anymore”.

                “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Enjolras, you know that is not what I meant”, his father rolled his eyes disdainfully. “Stop trying to victimize yourself”.

                “I’m not trying to victimize anyone”, Enjolras immediately retorted, and as much as he hated that, he could feel himself losing control over his temper. A discussion with his father – one of many – was about to erupt, and Enjolras had very little desire to prevent it. “I’m just repeating what you said. Now that you checked that I’m not damaged in any way, you can go on and about with your life. How is the _office_ work?”, he asked sarcastically.

                “You know how it is, don’t patronize me”, his father scowled. “And don’t tell me that you’re not _damaged in anyway_ right after introducing me to your… _boyfriend_ ”, he spared Grantaire another disdainful look. Combeferre stood up from his chair, a stern look in his face.

                “Sir, I think it’s better if you leave”, he said, calmly and politely. Enjolras’ father didn’t even bother looking at him.

                “What else will it take for you to realize that this… _life style_ you’ve chosen will end up getting you killed, hm?”, his father asked, not breaking eye contact with Enjolras. “Just look at yourself. Lying in a hospital bed after being attacked in a communist rally, dating a man, Enjolras, and he isn’t even a pretty one!”

                “Hey!”, Grantaire protested, but Enjolras’ father kept going.

                “Are you trying to embarrass your family to death, is that it?”, he raised an eyebrow. There were tears pooling in Enjolras’ eyes, but he blinked them away furiously, never letting his angry façade break. “Do you have any idea of how worried your mother was?”, he said, opening his briefcase and pulling a newspaper from inside. He threw it at Enjolras, who realized that it was the same newspaper Combeferre had showed him on the previous day, with himself unconscious being dragged away from the rally by a desperate Grantaire.

                “If she was worried, then why didn’t she come visit?”, Enjolras asked, not bothering to touch the newspaper and raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “She’s always been more tactful than you, but I don’t suppose that means much”.

                Enjolras’ father scoffed.

                “She hasn’t come visit you because she’d figured she would end up having to deal with one of these aberrations you call boyfriends”, he said with disdain. “You’re breaking our hearts, Enjolras”.

                “Oh, and you’re not breaking mine?”, Enjolras asked sarcastically.

                “Sir, your son is still recovering, he isn’t supposed to be distressed like this –“, Combeferre intervened again, but was soon cut off by Enjolras.

                “Stop calling him sir!”, Enjolras yelled, at the same time his father interrupted:

                “He is _my_ son, as you remarked very wisely; therefore I have all the right to talk to him for as long as I wish –“

                “Sorry, but you don’t, when it comes to Enjolras’ health –“

                “Stop pretending that you give a shit about me, we all know the only reason you paid this hospital bill was to increase public sympathy for yourself –“

                “These communist friends of yours have brainwashed you into thinking that I am some sort of villain when the only thing I am doing is my duty as a father, while trying to correct your sinful ways of life –“

                “It would be better for anyone if you just left, don’t make me call security –“

                “ _Duty as my father_? I didn’t know you had become a comedian. Since when have you been a good father to me?”

                “We always got along very well, Enjolras, we were close until you begun talking about this queer nonsense and straying from the right way –“

                “ _The right way_? How much more _hypocrite_ can you get? You’re the one who embezzles thousands of – “

                “That’s it, I’m calling security –“

                “Don’t you dare speak of my work, you little brat, you know very well that everything I’ve ever done was to give my family a good life –“

                “Oh, for fuck’s sake _, shut up_!”, Grantaire yelled at the top of his lungs, standing up with such abruptness that he knocked his chair back. The entire room went very silent, all eyes glued on him. A few tense seconds passed before Enjolras’ father broke the silence, an indignant and offended expression on his face.

                “How _dare_ you –“

                “My dude, you better shut the heck up before I give you a dentist bill so expensive that you’ll have to put it on your tax income, but maybe it will justify part of this money you’ve been stealing”, Grantaire raised a finger to Enjolras’ father’s face, who looked so taken aback that he actually fell silent. Enjolras looked just as shell shocked as his father, but there was a hint of admiration in his eyes as he stared up at his boyfriend. Grantaire never turned to look at his boyfriend, staring menacingly at Enjolras’ father instead, finger still pointed to his face. “First of all, you don’t talk to Enjolras like that. _No one_ talks to Enjolras like that on my watch. You’d better get your filthy self-righteous white ass out of our sights before my fist arranges a meeting with your face. Second of all, he is _your son._ You are supposed to support him and look after him, not come to his hospital bed after he was publicly injured and emotionally manipulate him and insult him like that. He didn’t ask for your fucking help, so don’t shove it on his face to feel better about the fact that you’re a piece of shit father. And third of all, you are disrupting a recovering patient and Combeferre and I will haul your ass out of here ourselves if security doesn’t arrive in time. Now take your trash and fuck off”, Grantaire finished, picking up the newspaper from Enjolras’ lap without caring whether he was scrunching it up or not, and throwing at the shocked man in front of him. Enjolras’ father gaped at Grantaire for a few seconds, before turning his head towards his son once more.

                “Are you going to let him talk to me like that, Enjolras?”, his father asked, sounding menacing and indignant, and Enjolras finally broke, unable to prevent himself from letting out a tiny, constricted sob. His whole face scrunched up as he did his best not to cry, not in front of _him_ , and he didn’t bother answering to his father’s question.

                “Oh, get the hell out of here”, Grantaire scowled in disdain, which was so unusual – Grantaire had never shown disdain to anything except for himself – and quite literally pushed Enjolras’ father towards the door.

                “Don’t touch me, you filthy faggot!”, Enjolras’ father exclaimed, yanking his arm away from Grantaire’s grasp. He was in front of the door now, but still, he turned back to face his son. “Don’t think I will forget about this, Enjolras. I had never been so poorly treated in my entire life. After everything I’ve done for you, after all the sacrifices I made, my _public integrity_ , for god’s sake, the comments I had to hear for having a gay son! You are a disgrace for my name. and I will never forget the way you allowed this man to treat me after all the things I’ve done for you! Ungrateful child!”

                “Oh, boo hoo, poor you”, Grantaire scowled sarcastically, opening the door and shoving Enjolras’ father outside without any sort of politeness. “Go home sort your stolen, corrupt money into packs before acting as if you’re a fucking saint. Or better, you can shove all your fucking money right up into your self-righteous ass!”, he yelled, and then he slammed the door right on the man’s face. Only then he realized that he was panting.

                Turning around, Grantaire found Enjolras to be freely sobbing on the bed, red face covered by both hands while Combeferre tried to reassure him with soothing words. Usually, Enjolras wouldn’t let his father get to him and make him cry, but how could he not? How could he not cry after what Grantaire had just done?

                The cynic approached him, sitting on the edge of Enjolras’ bed beside him and sharing a worried look with Combeferre, who shrugged in confusion. Neither of them were used to seeing Enjolras crying; and the sight was as much worrying as it was heartbreaking. Enjolras had always managed to keep a fierce control over his own emotions – or, at least, he had been, before Grantaire’s death – and to see him break down like that made Grantaire’s heart tighten inside his chest. He wanted to help Enjolras. He wanted him to be happy.

                “Enj, what’s wrong?”, Grantaire asked, tracing soothing patterns with his hand on Enjolras’ back while Combeferre caressed his hair. “It’s alright now, he’s gone. It’s ok”.

                “He’s not coming back, E, I’ll make sure of that”, Combeferre added, trying his best to comfort his friend.

                “It’s not that”, Enjolras ended up replying, voice muffled by his own hands and shaky due to the crying.

                “Then what is it?”, Grantaire asked patiently, worried about the effect that all that heavy sobbing would have on Enjolras’ recovery. Enjolras, however, retrieved his hands from his face, looking up at Grantaire with a heart wrenching look, eyes reddish and puffy due to the tears, and face a blot of freckles and blushing.

                “It’s just…”, Enjolras said, as Grantaire wiped away the fat tears that were still rolling down his cheeks. “It’s just that… no one ever stood up for me against him like that before”, Enjolras admitted, and Grantaire couldn’t help but to let out a sigh and pull his boyfriend into his arms, holding him close as he calmed down.

                “Oh, Enj”, Grantaire whispered, placing a kiss on the top of the leader’s head as he caressed his back. Combeferre watched sadly.

                “Everyone is so terrified of him”, Enjolras continued, voice muffled by Grantaire’s shoulder. “No one ever dared to defend me, no one”, Enjolras shook his head. It was true. No one ever defended him from his father’s verbal abuse, not even Combeferre of Courfeyrac. Grantaire had been the first one, the _only_ one, and how could Enjolras deal with that? Grantaire was doomed to die and Enjolras would no longer be able to live without him. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He loved Grantaire too much to lose him, and he had never expected that his feelings for Grantaire could develop so much, in so little time, with so little actions.

                “Hey”, Grantaire called, gently breaking their embrace and pushing Enjolras backwards so that their eyes could meet. “I promise you, ok?”, he continued, tone soft and caring, as he allowed a thumb to form circles on Enjolras’ cheekbone. “I promise I’ll always be here for you”.

                Enjolras broke again, face scrunching up into an ugly cry face as he went back to sobbing. Grantaire was making a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. And he didn’t even know that because Enjolras was a piece of shit and too much of a coward to tell him about the countdown.

                Grantaire seemed to be very confused as to why Enjolras was sobbing even harder, but Combeferre, who was aware of the weight that Grantaire’s promise had taken on his friend, knew better than that. When the cynic sent him a confused, questioning look as he held Enjolras, Combeferre merely mouthed: “It must be the head injury”, to what Grantaire nodded in understanding, albeit still frowning.

                Eventually, the doctor showed up to check on Enjolras, and was very thrown aback by finding the man with red rimmed eyes and a grim look on his face. Combeferre pulled the doctor aside to explain what had happened, and the man nodded in recognition and sympathy, even though he had been employed by Enjolras’ father. He checked Enjolras up and, after a few minutes of silent examination and asking the leader a few questions, he announced that he was good to go. Enjolras’ head injury had been no more than a mild concussion, that looked a lot worse than it actually was because of the blood and the splinters. With proper rest and medication, he would be fully recovered in less than a week. He could, however, still experience a few symptoms like tiredness or dizziness, but it was nothing to be worried about. The doctor was very positive about Enjolras’ recovery.

                Enjolras, too, was very positive and his mood lightened up as soon as he walked out of the hospital door, aided by Grantaire and Combeferre (even though he had claimed to be able to walk perfectly fine, thank you very much). Combeferre wanted to take Enjolras to his apartment so that he could keep a closer eye on him, but Enjolras could be really stubborn when he wanted to. He refused to leave his own apartment and to be a burden to Combeferre, which meant that Grantaire would have to keep his promise and babysit Enjolras in the leader’s own apartment.

                When they got to Enjolras’ place, however, they found the door to be slightly ajar. Combeferre and Enjolras came to a stop, surprised, but Grantaire stepped forwards.

                “Grantaire, wait!”, Combeferre whispered as Grantaire approached the suspiciously ajar door. “What if this is his father?”

                “Then I’ll kick his ass”, Grantaire whispered back, sounding unworried and slowly pulling the door open. He walked through it, quietly looking around Enjolras’ living room, but he never reappeared. Enjolras frowned, walking towards the door. Combeferre tried to hold him back, but the leader shrugged his hand off. Enjolras pulled the door open without ceremony and found himself taken aback and gaping in surprise when he saw all the Amis reunited on his living room. They all yelled “surprise!” in a very messy unison, throwing their hands up in the air and cheering while Enjolras stared at them dumbfoundedly.

                “I didn’t want to spoil the surprise”, Grantaire explained, giving Enjolras a fond smile and placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

                “Oh my god”, Enjolras said, unable to prevent himself from smiling.

                “We thought that after the unpleasant events of today, you might be cheered up with a little reunion”, Combeferre added, appearing from behind Enjolras, who turned to look at him with surprise. “You deserve it, my friend”, he continued with a knowing, sympathetic smile. “But don’t overwork yourself, you’re still recovering”, he added, slipping back into his paternal tone.

                “Thank you, Ferre”, Enjolras said with sincerity, squeezing his friend’s hand. Combeferre chuckled.

                “Don’t mention it”, he shrugged. “Though, I shouldn’t get all the credit. It was mostly Courf’s and Jehan’s idea”, Ferre said, nodding at somewhere behind Enjolras. The leader turned on his heels, only to find a small Jehan standing behind him, a hand-made flower crown in hands and a somewhat embarrassed look in his face.

                “Hey”, Jehan greeted, a little bit more shyly than usual.

                “Hey”, Enjolras greeted back, smiling sadly at the poet. Even though Jehan had been the first one to help him when he got caught up in the crowd in the protest, Enjolras wasn’t very sure as to where his friendship with the poet was. Enjolars loved Jehan, and having the man that upset at him broke his heart.

                “I think we should give them some space”, Combeferre suggested, nudging Grantaire with his elbow. The cynic took the clue and they both walked further into the living room, where Grantaire let out a loud cheer upon noticing there was a box of beers beside the couch.

                “I… I wanted to give you this”, Jehan said, handing the flower crown over to Enjolras, who took it eagerly. “And… and also apologize. For, you know, being a dick to you”.

                “You weren’t a dick”, Enjolras told Jehan with a sad smile on his lips.

                “Well, I was, even though I had my reasons”, Jehan said, shrugging. “Still, I’d like to apologize. It wasn’t right, to treat you that way. And now I can see… I can see where you stand”.

                “What do you mean?”, Enjolras frowned slightly.

                “I understand how hard it must be to you”, Jehan said. “To bear that knowledge, to be forced to keep all of that to yourself. I could see how desperate you were during the protest, when you couldn’t find R, and what… what became of you, trying to protect him. We were all so worried”, he added softly.

                “I’m sorry for worrying you guys”, Enjolras said with sincerity. “I didn’t mean to. I was… just trying to keep Grantaire safe”.

                “I know”, Jehan clicked his tongue, taking one of Enjolras’ hand into his sweaty one. “Which is why I am apologizing. I still think you should tell him about all… this”, Jehan sighed. “But that is your call, not mine. And I won’t antagonize you over this anymore. Though I love Grantaire with all my heart, this is your decision to make. I just want to see you both happy”.

                Enjolras’ lower lip quivered, and he blinked rapidly before blurting out:

                “Can I hug you?”

                Jehan smiled patiently, not bothering to respond. He pulled Enjolras into a tight hug before the leader could say anything else, and soon Enjolras’ arms were enveloping Jehan as well. They had that little moment for themselves, and Enjolras felt really relieved to make peace with Jehan at last.

                And then someone – Enjolras presumed it was Courfeyrac – screamed “group hug!” and then there were a lot of people around the two of them, making a hug pile. Bahorel, the largest of them, nearly knocked them all to the floor, to which Enjolras could hear Combeferre desperate calls of “careful with his head, he’s _recovering_ , for god’s sake”, and “this was a bad idea”, but the complaints were soon muffled by the sound of the Amis laughing and joking around.

                Enjolras felt a warmness fill his chest, something that was almost like happiness. Right now, he was with his friends and with his boyfriend. They were chatting, joking and basically celebrating the fact that Enjolras was alive and well. If he closed his eyes and allowed himself to be overwhelmed by their voices and touches, Enjolras could even pretend that there wasn’t a darker future looming ahead of them. For the time being, he could pretend that everything would be ok.

-

                The party couldn’t last for long, for Enjolras was still recovering and needed plenty of bedrest. By the time Combeferre kindly suggested it was time for the Amis to go home and rest as well (i.e. kicked everyone out), Grantaire was already tipsy from drunkenness and very vocal about his feelings for Enjolras.

                “Are you sure you are capable to keep an eye out for Enjolras tonight?”, Combeferre asked Grantaire for what felt like the tenth time, to which Grantaire responded with a chuckle and a sloppy kiss to the guide’s cheek.

                “Don’t worry, little bumblebee. I am more than capable of taking care of him”, Grantaire said more cheerfully than necessary, tapping Combeferre’s face twice.

                “I don’t know. This doesn’t sound good to me”, Combeferre scrunched up his nose, and Enjolras intervened.

                “It’s ok, Ferre. I can take care of myself”, Enjolras said. “And Grantaire isn’t completely drunk, we’ll both be fine”.

                “Enjolras”, Combeferre said with a wary tone. “Are you sure about this? You know I’d be more than willing to stay overnight”.

                “I don’t need a babysitter, Ferre”, Enjolras said patiently, to which Grantaire started to laugh like a maniac.

                “Yeah, he’s already got me”, he said, pulling Enjolras into a hug.

                “You’re tending more towards being the baby”, Combeferre commented with an affectionate eyeroll. “If you really don’t want me to stay then I’ll be on my way. Please, do try not to get yourself killed?”, he told Enjolras in a joking tone, but the leader could see the seriousness behind his friend’s words. He nodded solemnly, letting go of Grantaire’s heavy form for a second so that he could embrace Combeferre.

                “We’ll be fine, Ferre”, Enjolras reassured him, breaking the hug. “I’ll call you by the morning to let you know how I’m doing ok?”

                “Ok”, Combeferre said, giving Enjolras one last squeeze on the shoulder before heading out of his apartment and closing the door behind him with a click.

                “Finally alone, huh”, Grantaire slurred from where he was splayed on the couch. At least Enjolras’ friends had the good will to clean up after their mess before leaving, to spare Enjolras the trouble.

                “Yes, finally alone”, Enjolras told Grantaire, taking one of the cynic’s arm and hoisting him up from the couch.

                “Hey, hey, hey, what do you think you’re doing?”, Grantaire asked humorously, trying to regain his balance and leaning on the wall to do so.

                “I’m taking you to bed”, Enjolras explained simply, very aware of the double meaning of his words.

                “Kinky”, Grantaire commented with a chuckle as Enjolras guided him towards his bedroom.

                “That’s like, the opposite definition of kinky”, Enjolras said absentmindedly, allowing Grantaire to fall heavily on his bed as soon as he got near enough to it.

                “Touché”, Grantaire chuckled again. Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately.

                “Ok, to bed with you, Capital R”, Enjolras instructed, taking Grantaire’s shoes off as the cynic climbed his way up to the pillows in the bed.

                “You’re the boss, chief”, Grantaire slurred, voice muffled by the pillows. “Lie down with me”, he added, as Enjolras stepped out of his jeans and into his sweater pants.

                “Of course I will”, Enjolras said with a smile. He really liked how affectionate Grantaire got whenever he was drunk, but on the other hand, Enjolras wished he wouldn’t drink so much all the time. There was no way the amount of alcohol Grantaire consumed was healthy at all.

                Enjolras turned the lights off and was ready to climb to his bed when a faint red glow called his attention. He turned his head only to see that the glow was coming from the countdown clock.

                Grantaire and the clock were in the same room.

                Feeling his heartbeat increase twice its speed, Enjolras slowly turned to look at Grantaire, only to find the cynic to have his back turned to the countdown, eyes closed and face half-buried into Enjolras’ pillow. The leader let out a sigh of relief at this, thankful for that small miracle. Since he wouldn’t be able to move the countdown or take if off the table (god knows how much he’d tried that already), Enjolras carefully removed two books from his shelf, one to put in front of the clock and the other to put above it. This way, the hungover Grantaire wouldn’t notice the clock and, therefore, wouldn’t ask questions Enjolras wasn’t prepared to answer, right?

                Enjolras sighed. Deep down, he knew he couldn’t keep lying to Grantaire much longer.

                “What’s taking you so long”, Grantaire whined childish from the bed, voice still muffled. “I wanna cuddle you”.

                “I’m right here, stupid man”, Enjolras said affectionately, resuming to position the books to hide the clock and climbing the bed beside his boyfriend, face to face. Grantaire opened his eyes when he felt Enjolras’ weight shifting the mattress, and the smile that appeared on his lips was enough to warm Enjolras’ heart.

                “I love you”, Grantaire ended up slurring, and Enjolras didn’t mind that his breath smelled like beer. He smiled back, throwing his arm over Grantaire’s torso and pulling him closer to himself.

                “I love you too”, Enjolras said gently. Grantaire groaned in content, eyes slipping shut. He fell asleep in a couple of minutes, but it took Enjolras longer than that to allow himself to enter the realm of unconsciousness, despite of the tiredness he was feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: the big reveal


	12. Chapter 12

 

                Enjolras was still sore from the beating, which meant he wouldn’t be able to train for the tango contest with Grantaire, as much as he had insisted to – much for the cynic’s dismay.

                “Enjolras, for the last time, I am not training with you, let it go”, Grantaire had told him when Enjolras tried to convince the man to practice for what seemed to be the millionth time. They had been sitting on Enjolras’ couch, the leader idly playing with Brownie on his lap while Grantaire sketched Enjolras’ form on the sketchbook on his hands. “Now can you please _sit still_? I can’t capture your profile if you keep moving like this”.

                “I told you I’m not a good model; plus, if I sit still for too long Brownie will end up jumping off my lap”, Enjolras protested, trying to keep the hyperactive dog in place to no avail.

                “So what? He won’t injure himself from falling off the couch”, Grantaire said absentmindedly, sticking the tip of his tongue past his lips in concentration as he drew Enjolras.

                “You don’t know that!”, Enjolras said with something akin to indignance in his tone. “He could twist his little paw, he’s still a puppy”.

                “You’re such a mother hen”, Grantaire rolled his eyes affectionately, looking up at Enjolras for a few seconds just so he could capture the details of his face before fixing his eyes on the sketchbook again. “You’re going to end up spoiling him”.

                “I’m not spoiling him, I’m just preventing him from hurting himself”, Enjolras mimicked his boyfriend’s eye roll. “And by the way, I’m not _letting the tango subject go_. I want to dance with you on the contest, we had an arrangement”, he said almost accusingly.

                “There will be other contests”, Grantaire said, a little exasperated, and he missed the way Enjolras’ face fell at his words. _Not for you_ , Enjolras thought, but said nothing, letting his lips form a thin line instead. Grantaire, oblivious of Enjolras’ reaction, continued. “You’re in no condition to train _or_ to dance on that competition, Enjolras”.

                “It’s been three days!”, Enjolras protested.

                “Yes, and you’re still limping when you walk”, Grantaire retorted without hesitation. “I can’t believe you’re making me be the responsible one in this relationship”.

                “R, it’s just a couple of bruised ribs”, Enjolras rolled his eyes childishly. “It doesn’t even hurt that much”.

                “They don’t hurt that much because you’re high on painkillers, doofus”, Grantaire continued without even sparing Enjolras a look, focused on his drawing. His hands never stopped sketching Enjolras’ face, not even for a moment.

                “I’m not high”, Enjolras protested. “And, hypothetically speaking, if I was, it would be a good excuse to take me dancing”.

                “God, for someone who hated dancing and didn’t want to enter this contest at all, you’re really eager to do it”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

                Enjolras allowed his face to drop again. To be fair with himself, he did hate dancing. But the countdown on his nightstand was getting closer and closer to 0, and he already knew that the date of the contest and the expiration of the countdown would be on the same day. This tango   presentation might be the last opportunity Enjolras had at enjoying his time with Grantaire. And as much as he didn’t like to dance, it was dancing with _Grantaire_ that made the whole contest thing appealing.

                Enjolras wasn’t exactly prone to believing – or enjoying – fairy tales, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t familiar with them. The only constant in most of them was this one thing that had grown inside his chest ever since Grantaire’ death and that was only getting bigger and bigger with every passing day: love. Whenever the princess or prince perished, it was always love that brought them back. Whether it was with the true love’s kiss, or simply with a gesture of love, this one sentiment seemed to be the constant that permanently solved any tragedy in the protagonist’s story. And what Enjolras was living was basically a fairytale, wasn’t it? Stories like this didn’t happen in real life. Grantaire had died, and then he had been brought back to life for whatever reason that Enjolras didn’t understand yet. Enjolras was granted 30 days by his side to figure out what to do, and how to enjoy the time left with the cynic. Maybe love was the solution for this narrative. If he loved Grantaire and showed him as much, then he would be saved.

                Enjolras had to believe that. It was the only option he had left.

                Combeferre never found a solution to his problem, as much as he had tried. No book, either scientific of fictional, had showed a situation anywhere near Enjolras’ own, and therefore, no means to save Grantaire. Jehan had spent most of the time being angry at Enjolras for not telling Grantaire about his fate, and he wasn’t sure that Courfeyrac had a way of helping him other than offering his comfort. In his own researches, Enjolras found nothing that could stop the countdown or save Grantaire. He was on his own, and helpless for that matter. Since science failed him, he would be obliged to recur to fantasy now.

                Grantaire, however, must have mistaken Enjolras’ grim face (caused by his inner monologue) for grumpiness, because he finally set the sketchbook down with a resigned sigh and looked firmly up at the blond leader.

                “Hey”, Grantaire called, and Enjolras blinked up at him. “If you really want to go to that contest _that much_ , then fine”, he gave in. “But really, Enjolras, the moment you feel any pain, any discomfort –“

                “It’s ok”, Enjolras nodded. “I’ll tell you if I don’t feel good”.

                “Promise?”, Grantaire raised an incredulous eyebrow.

                “Yes, I promise”, Enjolras smiled, offering the cynic his pinky finger. He could feel some of the ominous feeling that had appeared in his chest dissipating with the reassuring sensation that he’d be able to dance with Grantaire. Wasn’t that what fairytale protagonists did? Dance with their love interest?

                “We can re-start tomorrow, then, if you’re so up to it”, Grantaire sighed again, closing the sketchbook and setting it on the coffee table absentmindedly.

                “Won’t you finish your drawing?”, Enjolras frowned, still idly caressing Brownie.

                “Nah”, Grantaire said, shrugging and leaning back against Enjolras’ couch. “For someone as pretty as a Greek god, you’re a lousy ass model”.

                “Told you so”, Enjolras chuckled, snuggling himself closer to Grantaire since he was done drawing.

                “Well, I thought I should try it anyway. Your face was made to be portrayed and you can’t really blame a man for hoping”, Grantaire shrugged again, passing an arm around Enjolras and pulling him closer.

                “Oh, since when you’re a hoper, Mr. Cynic?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire.

                “Since I met a certain blond guy”, Grantaire said matter-of-factly, nuzzling at Enjolras’ neck.

                “I see”, Enjolras nodded, leaning his head against Grantaire’s shoulder as he snuggled even closer. Grantaire’s scent invaded his nostrils. “This certain blond must be really convincing, if he was able to change your mind like that”.

                “Oh, he _thinks_ of himself as ‘really convincing’, that’s for sure”, Grantaire retorted with a shit-eating grin. “But really, there is no possible way for one _not_ to feel inspired as soon as he opens that pretty mouth of his. The way he speaks, it… it can convert even the most skeptic of men”, he said with a shrug. Enjolras could feel himself blush.

                “He sounds really interesting, this blond you speak of”, Enjolras teased, curious. “Tell me more about him”.

                “Oh, you don’t really have the time to hear me talk about him”, Grantaire chuckled, but there was a hint of sincerity in his tone. “I should write a book instead”.

                “You really should”, Enjolras nodded with an impressed look. “I would read it”.

                “I bet you would”, Grantaire chuckled again, and the rattling movement that the laughter brought made Enjolras’ head slip from his shoulder to his chest. Now, on that position, Enjolras was able to hear Grantaire’s heartbeat, and that comforted him somehow. “Let’s just say that…”, the cynic continued, and Enjolras noticed the way his heartbeat increased in speed beneath his ear. “He has this special way of messing with my mind, and whenever he opens his mouth to speak words of righteous fury I feel like the world around me is tumbling down because nothing else matters other than the sound of his silky voice”.

                “Hmm” Enjolras said, nuzzling at Grantaire’s chest affectionately. He allowed himself to throw his arm over the cynic’s torso as they half-sat, half-lied down on the couch. “What else?”, he teased. He loved listening to Grantaire speak – well, except when they disagreed and he humiliated Enjolras in front of everyone – and hearing him talk about Enjolras in _that way_ , which was clearly so full of love and adoration… It made something warm up inside of Enjolras’ chest.

                “Well…”, Grantaire continued, only hesitating for a few seconds while running his thumb up and down on Enjolras’ arm. “I truly could spend hours talking about his eyes. I mean, honestly, they’re the greenest, most beautiful eyes I have ever seen in my life. Whenever I paint him, I can never get the color right, and I’ve lost count of how many times I wasted expensive paint trying to get the right tone for his eyes on the canvas”.

                “Oh, so you paint me?”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow, trying to pretend that his heart hadn’t increased its pace. Grantaire painted him?! Enjolras had suspected that already, but hearing the confirmation only made his chest grow warmer from love.

                “Shh. Don’t interrupt me”, Grantaire said in a clear attempt to avoid answering. Enjolras could hear the cynic’s heart thumping madly inside his chest. “As I was saying, other than his eyes being the most stunning gems that I have ever seen, he has these freckles all over his cheeks and shoulders that just drive me completely mad. They are so hard to capture, but at the same time I don’t think he realizes how cute they make him. Actually, they were the only clue I had that he wasn’t actually made of marble when I first laid eyes on him. Speaking of marble, he has these amazing lips that are always so rosy and full that they could have been carved out by Michelangelo in person. I would bet my life that the god Apollo has wept at least once upon seeing his lips, and that he is probably very envious of them. In fact, I used to call him Apollo, but he doesn’t seem to like it very much. He thinks it dehumanizes him”, Grantaire explained with a shrug.

                “Maybe he’s right”, Enjolras said. “Maybe he doesn’t feel like he should be seen as a god”.

                “Well, he certainly has the looks of one”, Grantaire chuckled.

                “So that’s all that matters to you, huh?”, Enjolras teased with a smile. “This blond guy’s looks?”. Grantaire huffed out a breath.

                “Of course not”, Grantaire said, almost indignant. “He sure as hell is a pretty motherfucker, but that would mean nothing to me if I couldn’t hear the sound of his voice. He has the most amazing voice, it feels like… listening to a hug”.

                “Now you’re just making that up”, Enjolras chuckled, but Grantaire held him closer.

                “I’m being serious, for once. His voice was the first contact I’ve  ever had with him. Before I even saw his angelic face, I heard the sound of his voice, and from then I knew I was a goner. I may disagree with the words that he speaks most times, but the passion, the love in his tone are enough to make anyone else that might be in the same room as him become dull and unimportant”.

                Enjolras didn’t know what to say. They had started this game as a joke, a teasing, but now, it sounded like Grantaire’s declaration was heading towards a deeper path. Enjolras had been told that Grantaire had been hopelessly in love with him, but from what he was hearing, he had fallen for Enjolras the moment he laid eyes on him.

                “And his ideals”, Grantaire continued when Enjolras said nothing. “I believe they are the most beautiful part of him”.

                “You do?”, Enjolras frowned, confused. Grantaire had _always_ disagreed with him.

                “Yes”, Grantaire nodded, placing a kiss on the top of Enjolras’ head. “I mean, I don’t always agree with them, and I do think they are naïve…”, he said, and Enjolras rolled his eyes. “But none of that matters in the light of the passion with which he speaks. When he talks of liberty and justice, it’s like the whole world falls into place. Every single thing that was wrong seems fixable, if only he gets the chance to do something about it. He may think that his talent is to move crowds, or to motivate the people, or to instigate revolution. But he’s far more talented than that. He has the power to make a believer out of a cynic, even if it’s only for the cynic to believe in him”.

                Enjolras was at a loss for words. What could he possibly tell Grantaire, what could he possibly say after hearing such words? His love for the man only increased with every sentence, and Enjolras felt the need to kiss him full on the lips and hold him close to himself for the rest of his life. He wanted to have the same poetic capacity to tell Grantaire how he felt about him. However, before he could do either of those things, Grantaire continued.

                “Maybe his ideals are doomed to fail, but if there’s anyone who has the chance to change things for the better, it’s him. And I may not believe in much, but I believe in him”.

                “Oh, R”, Enjolras said affectionately, turning his head so that he could meet the man’s eyes. He looked somewhat embarrassed.

                “I used to think that it was a thing unheard of, that a man should be as cold as ice and as bold as fire”, Grantaire continued, not quite meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “But now that I know him better, I can see that he is not quite the marble statue that I used to idealize. He is not cold, dead stone, as much as he possesses a marmoreal beauty. No”, he shrugged. “He’s warmer than that. He’s flesh and bone”.

                “I’m glad you can see that”, Enjolras said, snuggling up so that he was lying against Grantaire’s shoulder again. Grantaire’s constant idealization of him was something that really bothered him, but he was content that the cynic no longer saw him as an unattainable god. They wouldn’t be in a healthy relationship if Grantaire kept seeing himself as inferior and undeserving of Enjolras. As much as the cynic still constantly self-deprecated, Enjolras felt like they were heading towards a more accepting, healthier path.

                “He helped me see that”, Grantaire shrugged with a smile. “He’s nice like that”.

                “You seem to be very much in love with this blonde, revolutionary guy of yours”, Enjolras teased, nuzzling at Grantaire’s neck and taking a teasing bite at the soft skin. Grantaire shivered.

                “Well, I am head over heels for him”, Grantaire shrugged again, going back to caressing Enjolras’ arm and then his back. “But he won’t give me the time of the day”.

                “Oh, won’t he?”, Enjolras asked with fake surprise, still nuzzling at the cynic’s neck.

                “No, he won’t”, Grantaire responded, hand sliding until it was resting against the small of Enjolras’ back, pushing his body towards his. He smirked wickedly at the leader before gently biting at Enjolras’ lower lip. “He probably doesn’t even think about me at all… all he seems to talk about is revolution and tango”.

                “What a cruel, heartless man this blond is”, Enjolras smirked back, biting at Grantaire’s lower lip and sucking it, which earned a moan from the cynic. “You should probably dump him”.

                “Nah, I could never”, Grantaire said, finding the soft skin of Enjolras’ neck and biting at it slowly, allowing his tongue to trace patterns that sent shivers to Enjolras’ spine. “I’m too in love with him to dump him. And he isn’t cruel; just really oblivious”.

                “Is that so?”, Enjolras raised an amused, fake-offended eyebrow.

                “Yes. I was in love with him for years and he never even realized it until recently”, Grantaire smirked. Enjolras’ face inevitably dropped.

                It was true. If Grantaire hadn’t died, if he hadn’t sacrificed himself for Enjolras, then Enjolras would probably never get to know about the cynic’s feelings for him. Now that he thought about it, Grantaire had always been blunt about the way he felt about Enjolras, but it took a tragedy for the leader to realize that. In fact, it had taken Prouvaire to tell him about that. And to think that, not only had Enjolras wasted years of his relationship with Grantaire, but now he was about to lose the man in a few days, made Enjolras’ heart ache with sorrow. Grantaire didn’t notice his boyfriend’s reaction, since Enjolras had gone back to resting his head against the cynic’s shoulder, but his silence wouldn’t be able to go unnoticed for much longer. Enjolras had to say something before Grantaire realized how upset he was, and the only thing Enjolras had in mind was to let Grantaire know how much he was loved. It was the least he could do, after all the poetic words his boyfriends had just told him.

                “He truly sounds oblivious, this blond guy”, Enjolras remarked with an eyebrow raise. “But maybe he was just busy trying to figure out his own feelings”.

                “His own feelings, huh?”, Grantaire said sarcastically, but there was humor in his tone.

                “Yeah”, Enjolras nodded shyly. He had never been good with confessing his feelings. For someone who felt so much, with such intensity, he was pretty bad at demonstrating it. His ability to speak and stir anger into crowds had always astonished him, for even with his friends, he had never been too vocal about his emotions. Those who were closest to him, like Combeferre and Courfeyrac, could read Enjolras like an open book and knew what he was feeling without him having to put unnatural effort to demonstrate it. They always knew when Enjolras needed space, when he needed comfort, or when he simply was trying to show how much he cared about them. But Enjolras knew that things were different with Grantaire. Silently hoping he would understand how much Enjolras loved him would lead nowhere, and Enjolras knew that he would have to take effort. Grantaire, this self-deprecating man he loved, who never seemed to realize how amazing and outstanding he was. Grantaire, who apparently was struggling with constant self-doubt, who was in need for constant reaffirmation. Enjolras loved him so much, and even if he wasn’t particularly good at it, he wanted to declare himself for the man once again. Not like he had done on that burger shop five days ago, with blurted out confessions surrounded by anxiety and simple “I love you”s that sounded too hollow now, when compared with all the emotions Enjolras was dealing with. He knew he could never reach Grantaire’s same level of beauty when speaking of his feelings, but he could sure as hell try.

                “Sounds interesting”, Grantaire merely commented, faking absentmindedness and trying to encourage Enjolras to continue but not knowing how to. Enjolras took a deep breath. He could feel himself blushing already.

                “Well, yes”, Enjolras gave Grantaire a tiny shrug, from where he was still resting his head against the man’s shoulder. “Maybe he isn’t very good at dealing with romantic interest, and he needed some time to figure his own emotions out before deciding to _‘give you the time of the day’_ ”, Enjolras teased. Grantaire chuckled.

                “That sounds reasonable. Blond guy always seems to be carefully planning his steps before he takes them”, Grantaire admitted, huffing through his nose with humor. “But what about you?”, he added.

                “What about me?”, Enjolras gave him a tiny frown.

                “I told you about my blond guy”, Grantaire said lightheartedly, somehow giving Enjolras the precise window of opportunity he’d been looking for. “Do you have a blond guy of your own?”, he raised an eyebrow, even though Enjolras couldn’t see it from his position on the couch. In fact, Grantaire was very grateful that Enjolras wasn’t able to see his face. Despite of his lighthearted tone, Grantaire was feeling nervous about the path that this conversation was heading to.

                “No, he’s… He’s not blond”, Enjolras giggled, pulling Grantaire closer to him. ”His hair is black. In fact, it’s the… blackest hair… I’ve ever seen”, Enjolras said, and immediately wanted to facepalm. What was he _doing_?! What sort of crappy, half-assed love declaration was that? He wanted to bury his face on the floor and never get up, but Grantaire didn’t seem to mind and waited quietly for Enjolras to continue. After a short pause, in which he cleared his throat, Enjolras did so. “I mean… it’s so curly and thick and… uh… black. It’s very black. Like… coal”, Enjolras said, feeling blood continuously rising to his face and ears in embarrassment.

                “Sounds nice”, Grantaire said sweetly, and Enjolras couldn’t tell whether that weird tone in his voice was due to resignation or disappointment. That conversation, which was so sweet mere seconds before, was heading downhill very quickly.

                In the fraction of a second, Enjolras made a decision. He wasn’t poetic like Grantaire. Unfortunately, that was a talent that he had always lacked. He wasn’t particularly good with metaphors, sweetness and poems, not even when they were related to his Cause. He wouldn’t be going anywhere with this declaration if he attempted to use resources that he didn’t dominate completely. But still, Enjolras was good with words. With one single phrase, he could stir the light into the hearts of men. With one precisely shouted word, he could move crowds. Enjolras was _good with words_. Not poetic words, or fancy metaphors, but true, direct and sincere words, words that said the truth. Concise words. He would use this talent to move Grantaire, too, even if he couldn’t speak as beautifully or poetically as his boyfriend had. While Grantaire worked with his heart, Enjolras would work with his brain. He would speak of facts, whereas Grantaire had spoken of poetry and mythology. He sighed as if to recompose himself.

                “What I mean to say is that his hair fascinates me. Even though people might find his curls messy and awry, I think that is exactly the point of it. Actually, it’s exactly the point of _him_ ”, Enjolras chuckled briefly. “He _is_ messy, and he _is_ awry”, Enjolras said, hoping that Grantaire wouldn’t take offense on that. “Just like his hair is. And that what makes him _one of a kind_ , as he insists to call me. I’ve wished, for a long time, to bury my hand in his curls and just… caress them, because to me, they look like they were made to be caressed. But not by any hand”, Enjolras quickly added, embarrassed at the amount of honesty that was leaving his mouth. “By mine and mine alone. Same as his lips”.

                Enjolras could feel Grantaire’s heart beating faster and faster beneath the hand that was resting on the top of the man’s chest. Somehow, that encouraged him to continue.

                “And I just… really love his nose. I know that some people find it big and unattractive but I don’t. I think that it matches his face perfectly. I love nuzzling at his nose with my own, looking deep into his eyes… and how can I begin speaking of his eyes?”, Enjolras sighed. “They’re probably my favorite part. They’re of a tone that I had never seen before in _anyone_ , greyish with the slightest tinge of blue, like the ocean in the face of an incoming storm. In fact, _he_ is like an incoming storm. His voice is loud like the thunder and he is as strong and stubborn as a hurricane. I had never realized that until I saw him fighting on a secret den. The way he stood there, despite being drunk, and knocked down his opponent with precise blows, he looked like the definition of a storm”.

                “Bringing destruction everywhere”, Grantaire attempted to jest, but Enjolras could sense that he was, deep down, being honest.

                “No”, Enjolras quickly corrected. “Bringing beauty as an unstoppable force of nature”.

                “A force of nature that happens to kill people, Enjolras”, Grantaire chuckled but there was no humor in his voice.

                “Let me finish, just this once, please?”, Enjolras asked, frustrated. He hadn’t meant to offend Grantaire. But again, he always _seemed_ to offend Grantaire, no matter how he tried not to. “I know how _much_ you love to interrupt me, but please, just let me finish”.

                “Alright”, Grantaire said with a fond smile.

                “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it”, Enjolras said, a little upset that he was failing at making Grantaire feel as loved as he had made Enjolras. “I didn’t mean it like something bad. I just… I really love your eyes. They have a unique intensity, and gazing into them is like reading your heart. They’re incredibly expressive, to the point of being inconvenient”.

                “Oh, so I’m inconvenient?”, Grantaire chuckled, but then again, there was honesty in his tone.

                “No!”, Enjolras immediately replied, huffing out a breath. He felt angry and frustrated. Why was Grantaire trying to turn everything he said into something bad? That wasn’t what Enjolras wanted. “You’re not. Y-you… you’re… not”, Enjolras resigned, not knowing what else to say. Grantaire wasn’t exactly making it easy for him to show his love properly.

                “I’m sorry”, Grantaire said with sincerity, sensing that he had upset Enjolras. He placed a kiss on the top of the man’s head. “I’ll stop being a pain in the ass now, kay? Why don’t you keep telling me about this curly haired guy?”

                Enjolras sighed, frustrated.

                “I said they are inconvenient because sometimes, even though you don’t say a word, I can tell exactly what you’re feeling. And other times, when I’m angry at you and I yell words that I regret later, your eyes show me how _terrible_ it was of me to be unnecessarily harsh to you. I said they are inconvenient because they _make_ me feel that way. They always show me the raw truth that I sometimes willingly ignore and they always tell me what I need to know about you”. Enjolras was aware that he was no longer referring himself to Grantaire in the third person as their little game dictated, and as Grantaire had referred to him, but he didn’t care much. His main goal was to show Grantaire that he was loved, even if that took stepping out of the “mysterious curly haired guy” game.

                “And what do you know about me?”, Grantaire asked curiously. Simply.

                “I know that you are insecure”, Enjolras said, and even though he could feel Grantaire’s limbs stiffen around him, he knew he was too deep in to give up now. His main goal was to be honest, for once in his life, wasn’t it? “And I know that you have this terrible amount of self-loathing. I know that you don’t deem yourself worthy of me, which is the _farthest_ thing from the truth that you could ever come up with”, Enjolras said, leaning back against Grantaire’s grip and tilting his head up so that he could look the cynic into his eyes. Usually, that sort of eye contact would make him nervous, anxious, even, but he knew it was necessary. He couldn’t hide his face as he spoke those words – he needed Grantaire to know that they were real and that Enjolras meant it. Perhaps Enjolras could have chosen a better time to talk about this delicate subject with Grantaire, but time wasn’t exactly something he was willing to waste. “I know that you have loved me for a longer time than I have loved you”, Enjolras continued, trying to be as honest as he could. Grantaire’s intense and expressive gaze was fixed on him. “And that doesn’t change anything about the nature of my feelings. I love you, and my love for you only grows with each passing day. I love you, more than I loved you yesterday, and less than I’ll love you tomorrow. I love you”, Enjolras placed a gentle kiss on the tip of Grantaire’s long nose. “I love you”, he placed a kiss on each of Grantaire’s cheeks. “I love every single part of you. Even when I get angry at you for disagreeing with me, I love you. Even when I get frustrated that you don’t believe in our cause, I love you. Even when you disrupt meetings with obnoxious comments, I love you. When you play the guitar and throw your hair back; I love you. When you jump into rivers in the middle of the night to rescue drowning puppies, I love you. When you cook pasta that gives me allergies, I love you. When you draw me, or sing to me, I love you. Even when you’re drunk out of your mind getting your ass kicked in a secret fight club, I love you. I love you more than I can express in words, Grantaire, and I wish I could speak of you as poetically as you spoke of me. I know that my words are too straightforward and lack the beauty and the poetry of yours. But I hope that I managed to get, even if just a little bit, my point across that thick skull of yours”, Enjolras shifted so that he could raise a hand to cup Grantaire’s face. “ _I love you_ ”, he said emphatically, before kissing Grantaire full on the lips. “And that is what I know”, he said after they parted.

                By the time Enjolras finished speaking, there were tears pooling in Grantaire’s eyes and his lower lip was quivering almost unnoticeably and he had a heartbreaking puppy-look on that signaled he was about to cry. Enjolras couldn’t exactly tell what he had done wrong – had he screwed up again? – but he pulled Grantaire closer to himself anyway. They shifted positions: previously, Enjolras had been the one resting his head against Grantaire’s chest; now it was Grantaire burying his face on the crook of Enjolras’ neck as he was held and comforted by the leader while he sobbed freely.

                Enjolras ran his hand up and down Grantaire’s back, trying to ease the man as he cried, cut-off, broken sounds being emitted from his throat. They spent a long time like that, and what felt like an eternity to both Enjolras and Grantaire couldn’t have been longer than some minutes.

                “I’m sorry”, Grantaire managed to mumble as soon as his sobs died down.

                “There’s nothing to be sorry for, R”, Enjolras said, even though he was dying to know what had caused Grantaire’s outburst.

                “I just made your shirt collar damp”, Grantaire said apologetically, but Enjolras chuckled.

                “That’s not a problem”, he responded reassuringly, never ceasing to caress his boyfriend’s back.

                “Sorry anyway”, Grantaire sniffed, allowing himself to be pulled closer by Enjolras.

                “For what, R?”, Enjolras asked as patiently as he could.

                “For crying all over you like a fucking…”, Grantaire trailed off, burying his face deeper against Enjolras’ neck as if trying to hide it further. “God, I’m such a moron. What must you be thinking of me?”, he chuckled humorlessly, voice muffled.

                “You are not a moron, and I am thinking that you are a wonderful, sensitive man and that there is nothing wrong with crying on your boyfriend’s shoulder”, Enjolras said matter-of-factly. Grantaire sniffed again.

                “God”, was all Grantaire managed to say, voice wet and broken, body still rattling with some silent sobs before he went still. Enjolras was growing more worried by the second.

                “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”, Enjolras asked, rubbing a comforting pattern on Grantaire’s back. “You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it”, he added patiently. Grantaire chuckled again, making it sound wet and miserable.

                “It’s stupid”, Grantaire said, somewhat childishly. Enjolras bit his lower lip in frustration.

                “I bet it’s not”, he tried patiently. Grantaire sighed.

                “It’s just…”, he started, not giving any signs that he would raise his face to look Enjolras in the eyes. “It’s just I’ve… I’ve been in love with you for so long, Enjolras. I don’t even remember what it was like _not being_ in love with you. And I never, ever in my wildest dreams, imagined that you would, some day, return my feelings for you”, he took in a deep, shaky breath, about just as shaky as his voice sounded.  “But now you do and… and for the first time in my life, for the first time ever… you… you made me feel _wanted_ ”, he breathed out, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. His whole body relaxed, and Enjolras held him close.

                Enjolras knew that Grantaire felt unwanted by both his parents. To know that he made the cynic feel wanted made a warm feeling blossom inside Enjolras’ chest.

                “You _are_ wanted”, Enjolras said sweetly, placing a kiss on the top of Grantaire’s mess of curls. “So many people like you, R. You are wanted by our friends, by Mme. Houcheloup, by your dancing pals, by your –“

                “No”, Grantaire interrupted sharply, finally raising his head to meet Enjolras’ eyes. There was a small pause that lasted a few tense seconds. “I don’t give a shit about my parents not wanting me. They never cared about me, so why should I care about them? But I don’t want our friends to want me”, he said, shaking his head slightly.

                “R?”, Enjolras asked, blinking in confusion. What was he on about?

                “The only person that _I_ want to _want me_ ”, Grantaire continued, leaning forwards. “Is _you_ ”, he said, voice merely above a whisper. He pulled Enjolras closer. “No one else”.

                “And I do”, Enjolras whispered as well. “I want you. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone”.

                “Fuck”, Grantaire groaned lowly, pulling Enjolras into a heartfelt kiss that quickly turned into a making out session on his couch, with Grantaire clinging to him as their tongues intertwined. Enjolras kissed him back as passionately as he could, doing his best to show Grantaire how loved he was. They finally parted, breathless and flushed, and upon seeing how breathless Enjolras was, Grantaire smiled, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Enjolras’. They stayed like that for a while, Grantaire on the top of Enjolras on the couch, nuzzling softly at the leader’s nose. They were so close to each other that Enjolras could feel the frantic beating of Grantaire’s heart against his own chest. He liked it. It reminded him that Grantaire was alive, and that Grantaire was right there, right next to him. Enjolras allowed his eyes to slip shut, too, a soft smile appearing on his lips. He was happy.

-

                As arranged, they went back to training, and if Grantaire was still reluctant about it, he never told that to Enjolras.

                After a week of training non-stop (they even managed to train on meeting days, staying late at the Musain and dancing in the small backroom, after everyone went home. Mme Houcheloup would often enter the room as they danced, and then leave, unnoticed, with a fond smile on her face), Enjolras was already getting the hang of dancing tango without looking like he was attempting to kill a cockroach or tripping on Grantaire’s feet. Looking at himself, he knew that he wasn’t very good at this whole dancing thing – he had never been –, but Grantaire, patient in teaching as always, told him that he was getting better with each training session. Enjolras didn’t know if that was a lie or if the improvement was so slow that it became unnoticeable to himself, but he decided that he didn’t really care. He had always known that he wasn’t a suitable partner to make Grantaire win that contest, but he had been driven by the idea of spending time with Grantaire, and not of winning a prize.

                Eventually, however, Enjolras figured that Grantaire _wanted_ to win the prize, as much as he hadn’t vocalized that desire, which was why Enjolras spent the nights after trainings and after Musain meetings watching videos on youtube and trying to figure out how to make his dancing moves smoother and more natural. He always ended up dancing by himself as he attempted to improve the flow of his steps, his legs and his hips. It wasn’t as simple as it looked, dancing tango, and it required a level of mobility and flexibility that Enjolras wasn’t quite sure he possessed.

Grantaire had been frustrated for not winning the previous ballet contests he had participated, and Enjolras figured just how happy Grantaire would be if they somehow managed to win a prize. Enjolras was a man who never gave up easily, and if he was being honest, he _loved_ competition. He loved pushing himself to his limits to achieve his goals, no matter how hard and impossible they seemed, and if winning the prize was what Grantaire wanted, then that would be Enjolras’ goal, too. He would make Grantaire proud of him, and the more he concentrated on training – either by himself or with Grantaire –, the more the whole countdown issue disappeared further behind his thoughts.

Enjolras had never removed the books from the front of the clock on his nightstand, and ignoring it seemed a better option than facing it without being able to do anything about it.

                Enjolras had to admit that he hated himself a little bit for that willing ignorance. He was, and had always been, a man of action, which meant ignoring a problem instead of dealing with it right away was something he _never_ did, no matter how hopeless the situation was. But this wasn’t just any situation. This was Grantaire’s life – or, more importantly, Grantaire’s _death_ – on the table. There was _nothing_ he could do to solve it, and staring at that stupid glowing clock with its offending red numbers that wouldn’t allow Enjolras to sleep properly would be of no use to either of them.

                He could tell, however, that his friends – the ones who knew about the countdown – were getting more nervous with each passing day. They couldn’t tell for sure whether Grantaire would die or not – no one could, not even Enjolras –, but the leader knew that they were worried about that possibility. They deserved not only to spend time but also to bid their goodbyes to Grantaire as much as Enjolras did. But on the other hand, they couldn’t exactly do that without raising suspicions. Grantaire was too clever to not realize that there was something going on, should they all act strangely and mournfully around him. However, Jehan always allowed himself to hug Grantaire for just a little bit longer than usual whenever they parted, and Courfeyrac became more vocal about his feelings for Grantaire (“You look so great, R!”, “You are so talented, R!”, “You sing so well, R!”, “I love you so much, R!”, “I’m the number one fan of the R fan club!”). Combeferre, on the other hand, showed his feelings for Grantaire by lending him several different books that he _insisted_ the cynic should read. He even invited Grantaire for an X-Files marathon on his house, to which Grantaire attended on a Saturday night in which he didn’t have a training scheduled.

                Really, it would be better if Enjolras just got on with it already and told the whole story to Grantaire. This would lift the heaviest of weights from Enjolras’ shoulders, would allow his friends to talk freely to Grantaire, and would allow Grantaire to do whatever he wanted with what was very probably the rest of his life.

                But Enjolras was too selfish to just allow himself to _lose_ Grantaire like that. The cynic would certainly be angry at him for not telling him before – Enjolras had nearly a month to tell and instead, stayed silent and acted normal. In fact, Enjolras couldn’t be sure that Grantaire would even forgive him, or talk to him again. And as much as he hated the only growing dependence he was experiencing, Enjolras could no longer deny that he needed Grantaire. Maybe it wasn’t healthy, maybe it was problematic, but it was the truth. Guilt and love had mixed together to form a strong, irresistible feeling that would devour and consume Enjolras should he lose Grantaire. He loved Grantaire, and he needed him, more than he had ever needed anything or anyone. To someone who had never fallen in love before, Enjolras had fallen very fast and very strongly for Grantaire, which was ironical to say the least. Telling him the truth about the countdown would make Enjolras lose him, and that was something he simply couldn’t have.

Plus, he was just trying to protect Grantaire from himself. Everyone knew how self-destructive and reckless the cynic could get; if he knew that he was doomed to die in such little time (what, a few days now? He had stopped counting; it was for the best), Enjolras didn’t even dare to fathom the kind of trouble that the man would get himself in. The last thing he wanted in the world was to see Grantaire hurt or in danger. No, if he truly loved Grantaire and wanted to keep him safe from himself, then he couldn’t tell him about the countdown, no matter how much his friends disapproved of that decision.

                That was until one fatidic day changed Enjolras’ mind.

                The tango contest would take place in two days, and Enjolras had taken a shortcut to get to Grantaire’s art studio, since he was already late for their scheduled training. Enjolras was so much better at dancing, now (he was still nowhere as good as Grantaire, but he no longer looked like a malfunctioning robot as he danced), and these last two days would consist only of final preparations for their presentation on the contest. All their friends had promised to attend (some of them – hint: Courfeyrac – being very angry that Enjolras hadn’t told anyone that he had been _dancing tango_ ), so Enjolras had to do his best efforts to dance properly and not make a fool of himself. When Enjolras arrived at the studio, though, he didn’t find Grantaire getting the sound ready, or stretching, or practicing some moves by himself as he usually did. Instead, what Enjolras found made his heart ache and pick up the pace until it was thumping madly inside his chest.

                Grantaire was sitting on the floor, shoulders slumped and hair more disheveled than usual. He was sitting very still – too still for Enjolras’ liking – in front of a canvas, but it was blocked from Enjolras’ view by Grantaire’s body. There was a broken glass of beer lying close to the wall, as if Grantaire had thrown it in a fit of anger. The liquid was spilled on the wall and on the floor, surrounded by thousands of pieces of broken glass, and there were several other empty bottles thrown around Grantaire. Enjolras’ nose scrunched up at the reek of stale beer, vomit and alcohol on the studio, and he didn’t even have to look at Grantaire’s face to realize that he was drunk out of his mind. This type of incident hadn’t happened in a very long while, and Enjolras thought he could safely say that, ever since he started this relationship with Grantaire, the cynic had stopped drinking as much as he used to before. Surely, he still drunk a lot, more than Enjolras approved off, but never to the point of… this. Grantaire was clearly distraught, Enjolras could tell as he took several hesitant steps further into the studio, and he sluggishly shrugged off Enjolras’ hand as the leader touched his shoulder to call his attention.

                “R?”, Enjolras asked, worry very evident in his voice. He couldn’t see Grantaire’s face from that angle; all he could see was his back and a lot of vivid red colors on the canvas on the floor. His hands were covered in paint of the same tones. The painting looked abstract and yet chaotic, Enjolras thought, but again, he didn’t have as much artistic knowledge as his boyfriend. Not paying much attention to the canvas, Enjolras kneeled beside Grantaire, but he still couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face, which was hidden by his massive curls, fallen over his eyes. “R, what’s wrong?”, Enjolras tried again, voice sounding too loud in the silence of the art studio. Grantaire didn’t move. Enjolras waited for a few tense seconds, expecting Grantaire to give him any sign that he was listening. He didn’t. “R, I’m worried, please talk to me?”, Enjolras pleaded, and finally his words seemed to have some sort of effect on the cynic because he shuddered and sighed.

                “I’m sorry”, Grantaire slurred, voice so low that Enjolras only managed to make out the words because of the silence of the room and his proximity to Grantaire on the floor. He frowned.

                “Sorry for what?”, Enjolras asked, hesitant. What was Grantaire going on about? Their relationship had been going so well recently. They joked, and teased each other, and hung out, and danced, and kissed. They slept together on Enjolras’ bed and cuddled more often than not. Everything was perfect. Everything _had been_ perfect. This breakdown looked so random and alien that Enjolras wondered if Grantaire had been showing signs of distress that he ended up not catching before.

                “I ruined the painting”, Grantaire explained simply, nodding at the canvas in front of him and not looking at Enjolras. Enjolras took a more meticulous look at the painting this time, but he still couldn’t tell what was wrong with it.

                “Can you elaborate?”, he asked, chuckling nervously. “You know I’m not very good with art. At least not as good as you”, Enjolras shrugged, trying to diffuse the tension. He sat fully on the floor beside Grantaire and crossed his legs so that he’d be more comfortable. Grantaire sniffed.

                “I keep…”, he hesitated, shoulders going stiff as he decided whether or not he should tell Enjolras. Eventually, he relaxed, as if he just didn’t care anymore. Enjolras’ frown never dissipated as he anxiously stared at his boyfriend’s hidden face. “I keep having these… nightmares”, Grantaire explained, voice low and hoarse. Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat.

                “I thought they had stopped”, Enjolras responded, doing his best to keep the nervousness and anxiety off his voice. “After we started sleeping together. I thought they had gone away”.

                “They did for a while”, Grantaire sniffed again, and he sounded so small, so… fragile. Enjolras wanted to take him into his arms, but respected the man’s personal space. “They… they did. But they came back”.

                “Why didn’t you tell me this?”, Enjolras responded, but then, realizing how accusatory he sounded, lowered his head. “I could have helped”, he added, hoping that it would make his previous words sound less snappy. Grantaire scoffed, shaking his head slightly.

                “You couldn’t”, he said simply, still not meeting Enjolras’ eyes. The leader’s lips formed a thin line and he sighed, frustrated.

                “Do you…”, Enjolras tried, attempting to sound as gentle as he could given the current situation. “Do you want to tell me what these nightmares are about?”, he asked patiently. “You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it”, he added. Grantaire had never told him what his nightmares were about and, not wanting to pressure the man, Enjolras had never asked. Maybe he should have, though, since this subject was clearly taking its toll on Grantaire and weighting him down.

                A long silence followed, in which neither of them said a word or even moved. Enjolras watched attentively, ever so often turning his gaze to stare at the painting and try to figure out why Grantaire said it was ruined. Eventually, after what felt like hours of silent staring, Enjolras sighed in resignation and shifted his weight so he could get to his feet. Grantaire was clearly drunk and had made a mess of his art studio; someone would have to clean that up. Before he could get to his knees, though, Grantaire spoke up.

                “We’re at a rally”, Grantaire said, and the words alone were enough to send a stab of anxiety through Enjolras’ chest. In no time, his palms became sweaty and his heart was racing. His attention on Grantaire gained a sharp focus, and a low ringing appeared behind his ears as he concentrated on what the man was about to say. Suddenly, his throat felt very dry, and he swallowed. Grantaire didn’t notice any of this. “And everything goes wrong. I try to drag you away but you just won’t listen to me. As usual”, he chuckled humorlessly. Enjolras’ chest tightened and he could feel his breath catching in his throat. He felt as if he might throw up. “Then a man aims a gun at you. And he shoots you”, Grantaire shook his head, voice sounding tiny and constricted. “And I see you bleed out in front of my very eyes until you’re dead”, his voice broke at the last words, and he covered his face with both hands before Enjolras could see him cry.

                Enjolras was at a loss for words. What could he possibly say? He had been there. This dream Grantaire described was the exact scenario that had happened nearly a month ago, but instead of Enjolras, it had been Grantaire who took the bullet and died. He wanted to comfort his now crying boyfriend, but Enjolras found himself unable to move due to his shock. How on earth could Grantaire be dreaming about his alternate past?

                “Your eyes look so empty and your face is twisted in pain and there’s nothing I can do to help you or to bring you back”, he sobbed, voice muffled by his hands. “And then there’s a voice”, Grantaire continued. Enjolras blinked, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he stared up at Grantaire, anxious. “Telling me that I can change things. That I can… that I can save you. But before I can even do anything, I wake up, and even though you’re right here with me, I can’t do it”, he sobs. “I can’t watch you die every time I close my eyes, Enjolras”.

                Enjolras bit his lower lip, conflicted. He crawled closer to Grantaire, until their legs were glued to each other, and before he could open his mouth to ask for permission to hug the cynic, Grantaire threw himself on Enjolras, burying his face on the leader’s neck and passing his arms around his shoulders as he sobbed freely. Enjolras didn’t hesitate to hug him back, embracing his boyfriend gently and running soothing circles on his back.

                “Shh, shh. I’m here”, he attempted to ease Grantaire, holding him close. “I’m right here”.

                “I know you are”, Grantaire whined, voice muffled. Enjolras’ heart tightened further.

                He knew exactly what Grantaire was feeling, but how could he tell him that? He had never seen the cynic in such state before, sobbing helplessly and desperately as he clung to Enjolras as if he was a lifeline. Enjolras faintly wondered if this had been what Grantaire looked like when Combeferre comforted in the waiting room of the hospital, as they waited the news about Enjolras’ condition.

                And seeing his boyfriend this miserable and anguished only made guilt reappear inside of Enjolras’ chest. Grantaire had been dreaming about the day of his death. Grantaire had been _troubled_ about it, without even telling Enjolras. Maybe if he had known before, he could have done something about it. Something to help Grantaire, to make him happier. Once again, the deep desire to tell Grantaire the truth smothered Enjolras.

                “I just can’t let this happen”, Grantaire continued drunkenly. Enjolras pulled him even closer.

                “It won’t”, he said, but the words sounded vain to his own ears.

                “I can’t let you die”, Grantaire sobbed.

                “You won’t”, Enjolras said, his own voice breaking. He could feel the tears pooling in his eyes as he comforted Grantaire. This was all so difficult for Enjolras. He had never really understood why Grantaire had chosen Enjolras’ life over his, but now that he was faced with the truth, Enjolras realized that he would have done the same was he in the cynic’s place. Maybe he got why Grantaire had sacrificed himself for Enjolras. He remembered how distraught and unhealthy Grantaire had looked like on his deathbed, and that had been because Enjolras was hurt. He couldn’t even imagine what Grantaire’s reaction would be should Enjolras die.

                “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you die”, Grantaire sobbed, as if providing an answer for Enjolras’ inner question. Enjolras hated the tears that rolled down his cheeks, but didn’t bother to wipe them away. The only thing that mattered on that moment was comforting Grantaire.

                “I know, R, I know”, Enjolras said patiently, pretending that his voice didn’t sound shaky. “But it won’t happen, ok”, he continued, hating the knot that appeared in his throat. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere”.

                “I could have lost you”, Grantaire whined, raising a trembling hand to caress the already fading scar on Enjolras’ forehead and, with this, showing that he still wasn’t over Enjolras being beaten on that protest. He had been acting so light hearted and happy recently, always joking around and dancing with Enjolras, but now the leader could see how many troubles still tormented Grantaire. And it took the cynic several bottles of beer to tell Enjolras about that. What kind of shitty boyfriend was Enjolras, to not realize how much pain Grantaire had been in?

                “You didn’t lose me”, Enjolras said, breaking the hug and holding Grantaire by his shoulders so that he could look into his boyfriend’s eyes. Grantaire’s eyes were red and puffy, and there were dark bags under it. “I’m right here, you see?”, Enjolras said, taking Grantaire’s hand into his and leading it towards his face. He only hoped that his eyes could show Grantaire how sorry and guilty he felt. If Grantaire realized that, he said nothing.

                “I know”, Grantaire whispered, blinking rapidly. “But there is something wrong with me”.

                “What do you mean?”, Enjolras frowned, squeezing Grantaire’s hand. The cynic looked away.

                “There’s something missing”, his voice broke as he begun to sob again. He sounded drunker than Enjolras had ever seen him. “There’s something hollow inside of me and I can’t fill it up. I can’t fill it up”, he shook his head, lowering it grievously. His shoulders rattled with each of his sobs.

                “R, calm down”, Enjolras begged, even though his voice sounded as desperate and sad as Grantaire’s sobs were. “You need to take deep breaths for me”.

                “I don’t know why I feel so hollow”, Grantaire continued, ignoring Enjolras. “But there’s something missing. There’s something wrong”, he babbled. “As if there’s something I have to do, but I don’t know what it is”.

                Enjolras looked at his boyfriend helplessly, biting his lower lip. He wanted to help Grantaire, to make him feel better, but couldn’t tell how. He felt so frustrated and guilty that he might as well explode from all the emotions he was feeling at the same time.

                “I feel as if my time is running out”, Grantaire sobbed, and then everything stopped.

                Enjolras stared at Grantaire’s crying form in shock , feeling as if reality had entered some sort of slow-motion mode. Thousands of thoughts raced through his head in less than a second, but all he could do was stare at Grantaire as if he had grown a second head. He was very aware that his lips were parted and that he probably looked like a doofus, but the worryingly fast racing of his heart and the pulsing of his own heartbeat on his ears were the only things he could concentrate on. Before his brain could catch up with his actions, Enjolras heard himself blurting out, voice frantic and clearly distraught.

                “What?”

                Instead of responding, Grantaire merely wiped his tears away as he tried to control himself, even though he was still technically crying. His eyes were puffy and red.

                “What did you mean?”, Enjolras urged, allowing his anxiety to take the best of him. Grantaire looked up at him without exactly meeting his eyes, and sniffed several times before continuing, voice hoarse:

                “I don’t know, I just…”, he hesitated, huffing out a breath and staring at the ceiling. He sounded frantic and drunk. “I feel like I’m running out of time. I can’t tell why, and I… I think this is what bothers me. I can’t tell why”, he shook his head, blinking sluggishly. “I just can’t”, he finished, resigned.

                Enjolras looked at Grantaire for several moments before taking a decision.

                “All right”, he said, getting to his feet with a nervous huff of breath. He placed both hands beneath Grantaire’s armpits before hoisting him up into a standing position. “I’m taking you home”, Enjolras announced, passing one of Grantaire’s arms around his shoulders and holding the man’s hip to sustain his weight. Grantaire showed no reluctance to being dragged around by Enjolras.

                “I just spilled the red over everything”, Grantaire slurred. Enjolras decided that he could clean up the studio later, and slammed the door shut behind them as they left the room.

                “Shh, it’s ok”, Enjolras reassured absentmindedly, not paying much attention to Grantaire’s drunken rambles. His mind was racing with uncertainty and anxiety as he led Grantaire out of the building. What was he _supposed_ to do?

                “It was supposed to be beautiful but ended up looking like blood and death and it’s just awful”, Grantaire complained, head hanging low and limply as Enjolras basically dragged him towards his own apartment building.

                “It’s not”, Enjolras reassured, struggling to carry Grantaire’s weight. The cynic was barely walking at all, and Enjolras was already panting heavily from the effort of carrying him across the streets.

                “That paint was expensive”, Grantaire complained absentmindedly, but after that, went quiet. By the time Enjolras got to his apartment, his muscles were burning and sore, and Grantaire was practically passed out, hanging from the leader. The only thing still keeping him upright was Enjolras’ hands on his hip and his arm. Getting the door of his flat open was a harder task than Enjolras had anticipated, and Grantaire nearly fell on his face when Enjolras let go of his arm to grab the key and twist the doorknob. After he kicked his front door open, Enjolras had to drag Grantaire’s passed out body inside the apartment as if he was a sack of potatoes. A very heavy and drunk sack of potatoes.

                He got Grantaire to his bedroom and basically threw him on the bed, the weight of the unconscious man making the mattress creak and rattle. Only then Enjolras allowed himself to lean back against the wall behind him, letting out a harsh puff of air as he tried to catch his breath. His shoulders ached and his legs trembled from the effort that it was to carry his boyfriend, but at least they were home now.

                Grantaire begun to snore very loudly as Enjolras stretched his neck and removed the shoes from the cynic’s feet. He would try to take Grantaire’s pants off too so that he could sleep more comfortably, but the cynic was lying on his belly and Enjolras was physically unable to turn him on his back to unbutton the jeans. Instead, Enjolras merely removed his own shoes and pants before sitting down on the bed beside of Grantaire. The cynic unconsciously snuggled closer to Enjolras, throwing one heavy arm over his leg to keep him in place. Enjolras sighed.

                He knew there was no way out of it anymore. The contest – and therefore, the end of the countdown – would be in two days. Grantaire was having nightmares and dreaming about the day he died. He was having _intuitions_ , for god’s sake, that his time was running out. Enjolras couldn’t live with that guilt anymore. He had always known that he would have to tell Grantaire at some point. He just postponed it for so long that now things would be way more difficult.

                He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he didn’t even bother. Instead, he spent the whole night awake, sitting on his bed, and wondering how to approach Grantaire on that subject. How to tell him the truth without breaking his heart.

                The truth was Enjolras had only hidden the truth from Grantaire to protect him. He knew that Grantaire’s reaction to the fact that his days were counted could only be bad. He would end up doing something self-destructive and dangerous, and Enjolras couldn’t have that. If Grantaire had gotten drunk out of his ass just because of dreams, Enjolras could only imagine what he would have done had he known the truth before. Images of a bleeding Grantaire vomiting outside of that hellish nightclub filled Enjolras’ mind, and he shuddered.

                His whole night was a blur of anxiety and anticipation for the dreadful morning that was to come. Enjolras barely even moved an inch, and all he did was blink his eyes and breathe in and out as he allowed himself to think and think and think, coming up with several different scenarios of what would be Grantaire’s reaction to Enjolras’ revelation. By the time his brain became too exhausted to think and stress over hypothesis anymore, he begun to doze off, only to be roused from sleep fifteen minutes later by Grantaire shuffling and jumping out of the bed, only to run away from the bedroom. Before Enjolras could even compute what had happened, he heard the sound of retching coming from the bathroom.

                Normally, he would have gone after Grantaire to comfort him as he vomited, but Enjolras couldn’t move. He had just spent the whole night awake, consumed by stress and anxiety. Now that Grantaire had woken up, Enjolras’ heart went back to racing. The time was near. He was frozen on the spot.

                Some deeper, inner part of his brain tried to talk him out of it, to convince him not to tell Grantaire, begging him to let the subject go because it would be easier. And indeed, it would be easier. Enjolras had been entirely convicted not to tell Grantaire a single word about the countdown until what, ten hours ago? And now here he was, trying to convince himself _not to_ reveal the truth. Enjolras sighed, rubbing his hands against his face.

                He knew, deep down, that telling Grantaire was the right thing. It was only fair. He needed to do that if he ever wanted to find peace with himself. And moreover, Grantaire deserved to know. As Jehan said, it was Grantaire’s life, not Enjolras’.

                Enjolras didn’t want to think that it didn’t matter whether or not he told Grantaire now, because he would lose him anyway in one day. That thought was selfish and disgusting, and Enjolras pretended that it had never crossed his mind.

                Eventually, Grantaire emerged back from the bathroom, looking tired and in pain. Instead of entering the bedroom, where Enjolras was sitting on the bed and waiting, Grantaire went straight to the kitchen to grab himself a cup of water and an aspirin. He returned after a few moments, throwing his curls back and stumbling back to bed.

                “Good morning”, Enjolras greeted. Grantaire smiled – the sight sent a freezing stab through Enjolras’ stomach – and snuggled closer to him, kissing Enjolras’ hand.

                “Morning”, he said lazily, leaning his head on Enjolras’ lap. A few tense moments passed, before Grantaire reopened his eyes. “Oh shit”, he muttered, sounding terrified.

                “What’s wrong?”, Enjolras asked, doing his best to keep the anxiety from appearing in his tone. Grantaire rubbed his eyes with the ball of his hands.

                “Ah, man”, Grantaire shook his head, lifting himself so that he was sitting on the bed beside Enjolras. “I’m really, really sorry for yesterday, Enj, I really am –“

                “It’s ok”, Enjolras interrupted, almost nervously. Grantaire apologizing only made him feel guilty, no matter how wrong he’d been to get shitfaced.

                “No, really, it was so shitty of me to ruin our practice day like that, especially since the contest is tomorrow”, Grantaire said apologetically, before taking Enjolras’ hand into his and squeezing.

                “It’s all right”, Enjolras said, hating the way his voice sounded cold and detached. Nervousness was making him stoic again, and that was the last thing he needed on that moment.

                “Are you sure? You look a little… troubled”, Grantaire commented, frowning for the fraction of a second. Enjolras sighed, looking deep into his boyfriend’s eyes.

                “I… wanted to speak to you”, Enjolras said simply, and could see the way Grantaire’s shoulders stiffened and his face fell.

                “Y-yeah, sure”, Grantaire blinked rapidly, throwing his hair back with increasingly trembling hands. “What is it?”

                Enjolras took a harsh intake of breath, reading Grantaire’s face. There was no easy way to say what he had to say. He had spent the whole night trying to figure out how he would tell Grantaire the truth, but now that the moment had arrived, he realized how useless planning the conversation had been. He didn’t even know where to start. How was he supposed to tell Grantaire that he was going to die? How could he possibly prepare for that surreal situation?

                “Enj?”, Grantaire urged, looking concerned and nervous. He was staring at Enjolras with something akin to fear in his eyes, and oh god, how was Enjolras supposed to tell him? Maybe he should just let it go. If he didn’t know about the countdown, then he would die happy. Ignorance was bliss, right? He didn’t have to tell Grantaire. It would just make him angry and unhappy. He _shouldn’t tell Grantaire_.

                The tense silence between them stretched, and Enjolras was at a loss for words.

                “Look, Enj, I’m really, really sorry about yesterday”, Grantaire begun to babble, and of _course_ he would find a way to blame himself for a situation he knew nothing of. That was just _typical_. Enjolras sighed in frustration as Grantaire continued to rant. “I know you hate it when I drink so much, I mean, you hate it when I drink at all, and I promise I’ll try to stop, I promise, it’s just I’ve been drinking for so long and I can’t just go cold turkey because that would be really, really shitty, but I swear I’ll try to quit, even if it’s slowly and stuff, please, I just don’t want you to be mad at me because I have a poor way of dealing with my life issues and I know that I can get really –“

                “Grantaire”, Enjolras interrupted with another sigh. Grantaire stopped talking mid-phrase, looking at Enjolras with apprehension and hesitance. Enjolras bit his lower lip.

                He knew there was no way out now. Grantaire wouldn’t just let the subject go as if it had been nothing. And Enjolras couldn’t have him self-deprecating and feeling guilty like that. He would have to tell him. There was no other way. He had to be strong. He had to be brave. He couldn’t remain being a coward, pretending his problems didn’t exist and doing nothing to solve them. Grantaire deserved to know the truth. It was the least Enjolras could do after the man died for him.

                “Could you…”, Enjolras started, feeling tired. He cleared his throat, trying to soothe the tremble in his voice. “Could you please… uh, take that book for me?”, he asked, nodding at the nightstand. The books he had used to cover the clock were still on the same place Enjolras had left them.

                “Uh… sure”, Grantaire frowned, but did as he was told. He removed the book and, without sparing the clock another look, handed it over to Enjolras, who grabbed it awkwardly.

                “Thanks. Could you take the other one, please?”, Enjolras asked, and this time Grantaire _really_ frowned at him.

                “Enj, I know you must be angry, but please –“

                Enjolras sighed, lowering his head. His voice was shaking and he felt older than ever.

 “Please, just… take it for me”, he said, resigned. Grantaire hesitantly turned around and took the book, and his eyes lingered on the clock for a few seconds but he didn’t say anything as he handed the book over to Enjolras.

                “Thank you”, Enjolras said, voice emotionless. He hated how cold he sounded. “Now can you please tell me what you see?”, he asked, more politely than either he or Grantaire were used to.

                “You, clearly mad at me”, Grantaire said, mournfully.

                “On the nightstand”, Enjolras explained, staring at the books on his lap rather than at Grantaire.

                “Uh… that weird clock you didn’t want me to fix because you said you’d get a new one”, Grantaire said, squinting his eyes in confusion. He frowned at Enjolras again, clearly not following his line of thought. Enjolras sighed.

                “Do you remember what you told me last night?”, Enjolras asked, shyly meeting Grantaire’s gaze. The cynic looked somewhat embarrassed.

                “I… well”, Grantaire shrugged, uncomfortable. “Kind of, I don’t know. Some stuff”, he said.

                “You told me about your nightmares”, Enjolras explained patiently, aware of how sad he must have looked as he spoke the words. Good. Sad was better than cold. Grantaire looked away, blushing slightly.

                “Do you… have a point?”, he asked, clearly trying to escape that subject. Enjolras took a deep breath before continuing.

                “Grantaire”, Enjolras started, looking down at the books again. “A month ago, we went to a rally”, he said, and then Grantaire scoffed.

                “No, we didn’t”, he said with a confused smile.

                “We did”, Enjolras said, voice shaky and not meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “The rally went wrong and you tried to take me to safety. I didn’t want to listen to you, because I thought that I could manage to control the crowd somehow”, Enjolras scoffed in self-deprecation. “But when you finally dragged me away, a man aimed his gun at me. I was too busy thinking about the protest and what that would mean to our group’s future, but you saw him”, Enjolras paused, swallowing dry. His fingers were fidgeting with the books on his hands. “You took the shot for me. And you died”.

                “… Enjolras?”, Grantaire said, and any trace of a smile was gone from his face. He was openly frowning.

                “It was only when I was vomiting in the hospital’s bathroom that I realized how much I cared about you. And when Jehan told me you had feelings for me, I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t let you sacrifice yourself for me like that, I couldn’t… just let you die for me like that”.

                “I’m really not following”, Grantaire shook his head, squinting his eyes again. “What are you on about?”

                “You died on that day”, Enjolras continued, tears pooling in his eyes. “And I don’t even remember getting home because I was so shocked that I couldn’t breathe. I had never felt so much guilt and grief before in my life. I had just lost you, without even getting to know well you first, and then you were gone, and I couldn’t even tell you how grateful I was for having you in my life”.

                “Is this some sort of fucked-up role playing you just made up?”, Grantaire asked, looking extremely confused. “Because it’s really not funny”.

                “It’s not supposed to be”, Enjolras said, voice breaking. “Three days passed and then one day I woke up”, Enjolras continued, trying to keep himself together. “And you were knocking on my door. You were dead for three days, and then you were alive again. I was so shocked I passed out”. He dared to look up at Grantaire at this, only to find the cynic giving him the weirdest of looks. “And then I found this clock, glued to my nightstand”, Enjolras continued, nodding at the clock. Grantaire turned to take another look at it. “And it had a countdown on it. Thirty days”, Enjolras said, voice breaking again. He took several deep breaths. He couldn’t cry, not yet.

                “What…?”, Grantaire shook his head, not understanding.

                “I figured I had thirty days to be by your side and make up for the lost time, but I can’t be sure”, Enjolras explained, voice growing more frantic with each word. “All I know is that there is only one day left to the countdown’s end, and I just couldn’t keep the truth from you anymore, I couldn’t”, Enjolras said, a tear rolling down his face. Grantaire was still frowning.

                “Enjolras”, he said slowly, almost hesitantly. “What are you talking about?”

                “I don’t know what will happen once this countdown ends, but I’m so afraid that you’re going to die”, Enjolras choked out, quickly wiping away the tear that had escaped his eye. Grantaire merely stared at him, shell-shocked.

                A long and tense silence followed, in which neither of them knew what to say. Enjolras just stared miserably at Grantaire, trying to read him or to deduce what was going on inside his mind. His eyes darted across Grantaire’s face madly, trying to take in every inch of it and every micro expression. The cynic, on the other hand, looked confused and weary.

                “I did everything I could”, Enjolras continued after they both had grown too accustomed to the silence. “I did research, I tried to find out a way to understand this, to stop this, but nothing I found was useful and I just don’t know what else to do”, he sighed, exasperated. “I just… don’t know”, he repeated, his voice merely above a whisper. Grantaire finally reacted, shaking his head slightly and lowering it in sheer disbelief.

                “This is really fucked up, Enjolras”, he said, slapping both hands on his legs in resignation before standing up from the bed. “I knew you were marble but I never thought you’d be so cold to the point of mocking something as personal as my nightmares, which I trusted you with –“

                “I’m not mocking!”, Enjolras interrupted, desperate. He ended up getting on his feet as well, but he did so more clumsily and desperately than Grantaire had.

                “Well, then you just expect me to believe that I died a month ago and was magically brought back to life so that you could feel less guilty?”, Grantaire scoffed, a humorless, sharp smile on his lips. Enjolras swallowed dry, hand slightly outstretched midair, reaching for his boyfriend.

                “I understand this is a lot to take in”, Enjolras said, trying his best to keep his cool. He was holding both hands up midair towards Grantaire, as if trying to calm down a ferocious animal. Now that he was knee-deep in shit, he wondered why telling Grantaire the truth ever sounded like a good idea. He should have just stayed quiet for another day; maybe nothing would happen after all and he had just ruined his relationship with Grantaire for nothing. “But please, believe me when I say that I would never, _ever_ joke about something as serious as this. I would never make fun of a personal information which you trusted me with”, Enjolras said, looking deep into Grantaire’s eyes and hoping, just hoping that he would be able to transmit the honesty and sincerity he was feeling.

                “Well, what’s the other option, then?”, Grantaire scoffed again, poisonous sarcasm dripping from his voice. Enjolras frowned. On the floor, Brownie had woken up, and was now twisting himself between Enjolras’ legs, but the leader was frozen to his feet.

                “What?”, he asked simply, confusion evident in his voice. Grantaire looked away from Enjolras as if he couldn’t quite believe him.

                “Either you’re being a fucking asshole and making fun of something I trusted you with”, Grantaire explained, “Or this is actually true and I’ll die tomorrow”.

                Enjolras lowered his frozen, outstretched hand, allowing it to hang limply beside his body. Careful not to step on Brownie, he took a step forwards, towards Grantaire, who flinched slightly but didn’t move away.

                “I would never make fun of you”, Enjolras said, voice trembling as if he was on the verge of tears (which he was). He never broke eye contact with Grantaire. “I would never. And I wish there was another alternative, but I don’t think there is”, he said apologetically. Grantaire’s lips parted, as if he was still unable to believe what he was hearing.

                “Enjolras…”, Grantaire said, voice full of uncertainty and disbelief.

                “Maybe you won’t die”, Enjolras said, a flash of a hesitant smile appearing on his face for a fraction of a second as he continuously approached Grantaire. “Maybe the countdown means nothing. Maybe something else will happen”, Enjolras took Grantaire’s hands into his, standing directly in front of his boyfriend. He gave him a hopeful look.

                “You’re actually serious”, Grantaire whispered in awe after a few seconds of analyzing Enjolras’ face. Enjolras blinked slowly, and his face soon fell back into a grimace.

                “I’m sorry”, he said, biting at his lower lip. As hurtful as it was to tell Grantaire the truth, he knew it had to be done. It was hard, and difficult, and horrible, but a weight – a crushing weight – had been lifted from Enjolras’ shoulders. Grantaire would surely be upset, but Enjolras was, deep down, hopeful that he wouldn’t die. He had always been. It was easier to believe that Grantaire wouldn’t die, that the countdown was a sham. Plus, he had done everything right! He had fallen in love with Grantaire, given him the value he deserved, and they would dance.

                Shit. The tango contest. Would Grantaire still want to dance with him, after all this?

                And then Enjolras was tore away from his thoughts when Grantaire abruptly yanked his hands away from Enjolras’ grasp, taking several steps back and staring at Enjolras with something akin to… disgust?

                “How can you be fucking serious?”, Grantaire asked, voice sounding horrified. Enjolras’ lower lip quivered.

                “W-what?”, Enjolras asked, fear bottling at the bottom of his stomach.

                “You’re literally just telling me”, Grantaire took a harsh intake of breath, as if it was hard to say the words. “That… I mean”, he laughed humorlessly again, and the sight was enough to make Enjolras shudder. Grantaire sounded cold, which was something terribly… uncommon. He was always warm. He had always been warm towards Enjolras. “If this… if this whole shit you just told me is true, then it means you’ve known that I was going to die for thirty days”, Grantaire said, scoffing. “But decided to tell me a day before the countdown ends?”, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow, pointing to the clock without turning his head to look at it. He never took his eyes out of Enjolras, who had become a trembling, quivering mess. He could feel anxiety growing inside of him, beginning to consume him.

                “I couldn’t tell you before, R”, Enjolras said apologetically, trying to take Grantaire’s hand again. The cynic yanked it away from Enjolras unceremoniously. Enjolras flinched, hurt. “I just couldn’t. You would have gone on a self-destructive rampage and you know it, I couldn’t have you hurting yourself like that! It was better this way”.

                “Better this way?!”, Grantaire scoffed, smiling like a maniac, even though his eyes were empty of any emotion other than hurt and disbelief. “You _know_ that I would have self-destructed? You know that _for sure_?”

                “I…”, Enjolras hesitated. That was what Grantaire would have done, right? _Grantaire has a tendency to self-destruct when he’s upset, and especially when he’s upset because of Enjolras._ Those were the words who had been said to him, and that he had adopted as truth. “Well, yes”.

                “Oh”, Grantaire said, faking surprise. “I see. Well, how funny; you never told me that you had become a clairvoyant”, he threw his arms in the air dramatically.

                “Please, do not make fun of this situation”, Enjolras asked, pleaded, even. “I was just doing what I thought would be best –“

                “What you thought would be best”, Grantaire shook his head, smiling almost proudly at Enjolras. “You’re just precious, you know that?”, he asked, still smiling.

                “R?”, Enjolras frowned, confused.

                “What makes you think that you know better when it comes to my life, Enjolras? What makes you think that you can just decide…”, he trailed off, face falling as if he had just realized something. Enjolras’ frown deepened. Grantaire looked in shock. “Oh”, he said simply, eyes distant and blinking rapidly. “Oh”.

                “What is it?”, Enjolras urged, feeling anxious. Grantaire pointed him with an accusatory glance and scoffed self-deprecatingly.

                “Now it all makes sense”, Grantaire quirked his eyebrow, a smile appearing and dying on his lips several times. “Now I understand”.

                “Understand what?”, Enjolras asked, impatient.

                “Why the perfect little posh boy ‘fell in love’ with me. It was never love, was it, Enjolras?”, he shook his head, and there was a glisten in his eyes that indicated that Grantaire was tearing up. “Nah. You were just feeling guilty. I never truly understood why you had started to give me positive attention out of nowhere, but it all makes sense now. It all makes fucking sense”, he smiled bitterly, rubbing the back of his hand on his eyes to wipe away the tears that hadn’t fallen yet. “You were just feeling guilty for me taking a bullet in your place. You were just trying to make it up to poor, pathetic little R, who was dumb enough to fall in love with you and sacrifice himself”.

                “Grantaire…”, Enjolras tried to say, but was cut off by the cynic’s abrupt shaking of his head. Grantaire was smiling but the only emotions in his face were sorrow and self-disgust.

                “You know, normally I would just think that this whole shit you’re telling me is a fucked up way to make fun of me”, he scoffed sarcastically. “I wouldn’t blame you for it, really. You’ve always been cold as ice, so it would make sense for you not to know how to play a real joke on someone. You never gave a rat’s ass about my feelings before, anyway”, he chuckled humorlessly, coldly. Enjolras took a hurt step back. Grantaire knew precisely how to hurt his feelings with just a few well-put words. “But this… somehow, I know that this is serious. And this is what makes everything so much worse”, he lowered his head. Brownie, agitated with all that loud discussion, started to bark, but Enjolras couldn’t bring himself to give him any attention. His eyes were glued on Grantaire, desperate to make the cynic understand.

                “If you could just listen…”, Enjolras tried again, but Grantaire merely glared at him.

                “Listen to what?”, he raised an eyebrow. “To you telling me that you knew that I was going to die in 30 days and decided to tell me about it on the 29th? To made up excused and fake love professions?”

                “They’re not fake!”, Enjolras interrupted, getting angrier and more frustrated with each of Grantaire’s accusations. “They’re not. I’d never, ever lie about the nature of my feelings for you like this. What kind of man do you take me for?”

                “The kind that deems himself so superior to me that you thought it would be ok not to tell me the truth because you, oh, the mighty Apollo, so superior and clever and righteous, knows better than anyone else!”

                “Stop talking like that!”, Enjolras snapped, frustrated. Brownie was still barking loudly, which only made Enjolras more stressed. “Just let me talk to you, sit down and let me explain –“

                “Alright! You know what, ok”, Grantaire scoffed, still smiling humorlessly. He sat down heavily on the bed, making the mattress rattle, eyes never leaving Enjolras’ face. He threw both arms in the air in an exaggerated way. “I’m waiting. Go ahead and explain to me exactly why you thought it would be so nice of you to lie to me about every single aspect of our so called relationship”.

                “I didn’t lie”, Enjolras started, standing in front of Grantaire. His hands were shaking so he crossed both arms on the top of his chest, defensively. Grantaire continued to look up impassively. “I just… omitted some truths”, Enjolras continued, voice lower and tearing his gaze away from Grantaire, aware of how weak of an excuse that was.

                “Ah, yes, that makes everything better”, Grantaire snorted, mimicking Enjolras and crossing both arms again.

                “Please, just…”, Enjolras bit his lower lip, nervous. What could he possibly tell Grantaire to convince him that his intentions had been the best? He took a deep breath as if to calm himself. “Everything I told you, everything I didn’t, it was only because I love you so much that I couldn’t handle the thought of you being even more miserable when you heard about this whole countdown story, and yes, my feelings may have started off as guilt, but I can assure you that they developed into pure, unconditional love, Grantaire, a love that I have never felt for anyone or anything other than Patria before, you have to believe me!”, he ended up pleading, even though the idea sounded humiliating for him. Grantaire merely stared up at him, but there was something in his expression… it had dropped, as if he couldn’t quite believe Enjolras was doing that to him. As the cynic said nothing, Enjolras continued. “The only reason I didn’t tell you was because I worry about you, constantly, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or to make you feel hopeless because of something that I don’t even know for sure that will happen!”, Enjolras made another pause as if to get a hold of himself. He closed his eyes, lip quivering and hands shaking, and took another deep breath. “I saw you die”, Enjolras continued, voice lower and trembling more than it had before. “I saw you bleed out in front of me and there was nothing I could do. When I found out you were alive, there was nothing I wanted more than to make up for the lost time, and to get to know better the man that had laid down his life for my sake”, he reopened his eyes, staring deeply into Grantaire’s big, expressive ones. “Do you understand? Do you understand why I couldn’t tell you? Why I couldn’t make you miserable?”

                They stared at each other for a long time. Grantaire merely looked at Enjolras, nearly unblinking, eyes unfocused as if he was lost in deep thought. Enjolras watched silently and nervously, waiting for a response, any sort of response, that indicated that Grantaire was no longer mad at him. He knew it wouldn’t be easy like that, that Grantaire would probably be sore and hurt for a while, but maybe he could understand Enjolras’ reasons. Maybe he could just understand and forgive him.

                Telling Grantaire on that precise moment definitely hadn’t been a good idea. But Enjolras knew he couldn’t have hidden the truth from the man forever. It was only fair to tell Grantaire, even if it was so close to the countdown’s end.

                Deep down, Enjolras wished he had told Grantaire before.

                Suddenly, and yet slowly, Grantaire got to his feet. Brownie, who had his head resting on Grantaire’s foot, stood up again, sniffing him idly and unaware of the life changing discussion his owners were having. Enjolras watched silently, eyes never leaving Grantaire’s, as his boyfriend took a step closer to him. Their gaze was firmly focused on one another.

                “I understand”, Grantaire said quietly, and Enjolras’ shoulders dropped as he relaxed, the hint of a smile appearing on his lips.

                “You… do?”, Enjolras asked, subconsciously allowing all the hope he was feeling to seep through his voice. Grantaire nodded, making an unimpressed face.

                “Sure. I totally get it, Enjolras”, he shrugged, and Enjolras dared to take the phantom of a step closer to him. Grantaire placed both of his hands on each hip, sighing. “I understand everything now”.

                “I’m glad –“

                “I understand that, to you, I’m nothing more than a device to ease your guilt away. Because fuck, who cares about my life and my choices, right?”, he scoffed. Enjolras’ heart dropped once again. “All that matters is how you are feeling about my death, what you will do with the rest of the time that you have with me, how you are supposed to make best of the rest of my days. Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just hypothetically, I may have other friends and love other people that are not you? People that I would enjoy to spend time with, people that I would want to say goodbye to? Did it ever occur to you that maybe this ‘second chance’ you were given might not be yours, but mine? My second chance to live, my second chance to make up for my lost time? Did it fucking occur to you at any given moment that maybe your task as the only one who remembered this whole shit was to fucking tell me as soon as you realized what happened, so that I could be the one who decides what to do with my own life? Did you even think about me at all, Enjolras? Or were you, a man who barely even knew anything about me, just worried about what you thought I would do?”

                Enjolras’ lips were parted in surprise as he stared up at Grantaire in silent shock. He was right. He was… right, wasn’t he? Enjolras had always assumed that he had been the one granted with a second chance, not Grantaire. He had been the one granted more time to stand beside Grantaire, granted another chance at having a nice, non-toxic relationship with him. He had been too selfish and too self-entitled to realize that, in truth, the one receiving another chance at life was Grantaire and not himself.

                How could he have done this? How could he be so oblivious, selfish and stupid? Now that he had another perspective, he understood Jehan’s anger better. This was what the poet had been trying to tell him the whole time. Grantaire’s life was not his, and he had no right to make the man’s decisions for him. It took hurting Grantaire for Enjolras to realize how wrong he had been.

                “Grantaire, I’m sorry”, Enjolras blurted out, trying to reach for Grantaire’s hand, but the cynic turned on his heels and started walking out of Enjolras’ bedroom with large, firm steps. Enjolras followed him desperately, Brownie right on his heels and barking loudly again. “Grantaire, please, I’m sorry! I didn’t think!”, he pleaded uselessly. Grantaire yanked Enjolras’ front door open and only then he turned back to face the leader.

                “What do you expect me to do? Huh?”, he asked, voice loud and verging a shout. Enjolras flinched back. “Just tell you I forgive you like you’re used to and move on with the day I have left of my life? You literally just told me that I’m going to die tomorrow, and that you knew about that all along!”, he took an angry step towards Enjolras, who took a step back. “But oh, you just couldn’t tell me before, could you? You couldn’t tell poor, helpless, useless, self-destructive R that he was doomed, right? Because if you did, not only the fault would fall upon your pretty little head but you would also have to deal with the fact that I had been right all along!”

                Enjolras stared, shell shocked, and only then his frustration and fear begun to shift into something else that was hot and acid and Enjolras recognized as anger.

                “What?”, he asked simply, voice constricted and face already twisting into a scowl. Grantaire snorted.

                “That’s right”, he said, a twisted, scornful smile dancing on his lips. “I’ve always told you, Enjolras, that your naïve idealism would end up getting someone killed. Turns out it was just dramatic irony that I was the one to die”, he shrugged, a victorious and yet hurt look on his face.

                “So you think that the reason I didn’t tell you any of this before was because I didn’t want to admit I was wrong?”, Enjolras scoffed in disbelief, frowning. “What do you take me for? You claim that I am marble but you are the one who seems too cold to accept that I have feelings for you, and that everything that I omitted, I did while only thinking of your well –“

                “What feelings, Enjolras?!”, Grantaire exclaimed, a ludicrous smile on his face. “You don’t have any feelings for me!”

                “How can you possibly know what I feel or do not feel?”, Enjolras took a step towards Grantaire, defying.

                “Because if you really loved me you would have told me the fucking truth from the beginning!”, Grantaire shouted, and Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat, and Brownie was whining on his feet, and everything went too quiet and too still as if time had slowed down and came to a stop.

                They stared at each other for a long time again, faces flushed and panting because of the discussion. It felt like a silent eternity until Grantaire spoke up.

                “I should have known”, he said simply, and his voice sounded too small and too broken in comparison to his previous shouts. “I should have always known that there had to be a catch. I was just too dumb and tried to convince myself that you loved me”, he shook his head slightly, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were rolling down his face.

                “I love you”, Enjolras whispered, taking another step towards Grantaire. This time, it was the cynic who backed away.

                “Oh my god”, Grantaire sobbed, literally sobbed, and Enjolras’ heart felt as if it would burn its way out of his chest with grief and anguish. Grantaire had broken down, and his sobbing, desperate form resembled nothing the man who had been yelling at Enjolras seconds before. He covered his face with both hands, broken sounds being emitted from his throat and echoing across Enjolras’ living room. Brownie worriedly licked Grantaire’s shoe as if to offer him the comfort that Enjolras couldn’t. “Oh my god. I’m going to die”.

                “Please”, Enjolras tried again, even though he was not sure what he was pleading for. He placed a tentative, comforting hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, but the cynic shrugged the touch away.

                “You played me”, Grantaire whined, voice muffled by his hands and his sobs. “You played me like a fucking fool. This is sick, Enjolras”.

                “I didn’t play you”, Enjolras attempted, once more holding Grantaire’s shoulder to no avail. “I didn’t. I swear. I never lied to you about my feelings, I wouldn’t have told you that I love you unless I truly did, from the bottom of my heart –“

                “Stop fucking lying to me!”, Grantaire yelled again, uncovering his face to reveal blushed cheeks and wet, red-rimmed eyes that looked at Enjolras with a mix of hurt and anger. “This is literally the worst thing you could have ever done to me. You’ve always known how I feel about you, how much I fucking love you, and you made fun of my feelings. You used me”.

                “I didn’t”, Enjolras half-sobbed, half-chocked, indignant. Why was Grantaire refusing to believe him? Why couldn’t he just trust Enjolras?

                Would Enjolras trust Grantaire if he had been on his place? After all the lies and hidden truths?

                “Whatever it is you think you feel for me, just snap out of it”, Grantaire shook his head accusingly. “Because it can be guilt, it can be grief, it can be pity, it can be whatever. But it isn’t love”.

                “It is love”, Enjolras insisted, desperate hands trying to grab hold of Grantaire, despite of the cynic’s constant shrug-offs and yanks. “It is, I swear, I love you, please believe me, I would never lie to you about this, Grantaire, just listen to me for once in your life!”

                “I did listen once”, Grantaire said quietly, holding both of Enjolras’ wrists and pushing them away from himself. “And everything you told me turned out to be a lie”.

                He turned on his heels again, stepping out of the apartment. Enjolras stared in shock at his empty front door before his legs came back to life and he ran after the cynic. Anger was filling him once more.

                “So that’s it, then?”, he yelled at Grantaire, who didn’t stop walking down the corridor. He had to stop Grantaire. He had to save him, no matter how. On that moment, the last thing Enjolras worried about was the neighbors. “You’re just leaving to get wasted and get yourself in trouble because of this?”

                “Fuck off”, Grantaire said simply, not turning to look at Enjolras.

                “Please, just try to understand!”, Enjolras begged, though he sounded angry. He tried to pull Grantaire by his shirt, but couldn’t reach him – the cynic was walking too fast. “What would you have done if you had been in my place?”

                “I would have been honest”, Grantaire replied over his shoulder.

                “No you wouldn’t”, Enjolras shook his head, following Grantaire down the stairs. “You would have tried to save me while keeping me happy! That’s what I tried to do, R! I just wanted to help and to keep you happy!”

                “Well I’m not fucking happy, am I?”, Grantaire abruptly turned on his heels, a few steps below Enjolras, and the leader nearly collided with him. Enjolras stared at him with wide eyes. “I’ve never been happy, Enjolras, ever, unless when I was with you. Thanks for ruining that for me, by the way”, he turned around and continued to go down the stairs. Enjolras promptly followed him.

                “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen”, Enjolras explained, his breathing labored and heavy. “I only told you now because I thought you deserved to know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but given your reaction right now, I suppose I was right to wait all this time before coming clear with you! And at least I’m glad that we got to spend a month happily together”.

                “You can shove your happy month and your pretentious revolution right up your self-righteous ass”, Grantaire didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder as he spoke this time.

                “What does the cause have to do with any of this?”, Enjolras asked, annoyed. They reached the front of his building.

                “Oh, I don’t know. I guess it’s just the main reason why I died”, Grantaire shrugged sarcastically. Enjolras scoffed.

                “You died for me, not for the revolution”, Enjolras understood before he could even think about his words. Grantaire froze on the spot.

                “What difference does that make?”, Grantaire chuckled humorlessly. “It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”, he slowly turned back so that he could face Enjolras, who remained impassible. “You, the revolution, the precious cause, everything, it’s all the same”, he shrugged, defeated. He looked tired, Enjolras noted. “It’s all the fucking same. A bunch of beautifully spoken words and promises that are just fake and unattainable, for all that matters. Hidden truths, blatant lies, promises of a better, brighter future that will never come to be because there’s already a fate sealed and you know it”, there was a small pause in which Grantaire’s breath hitched on his throat. “I don’t even know why you pretended to love me if you knew I was going to die all along”.

                “It’s because I never pretended”, Enjolras said, voice merely above a desperate whisper, one last attempt to make Grantaire understand. “I really loved you. I still do”, he reached for Grantaire’s hand a last time. “I love you, R. Please, just believe me”.

                Grantaire looked at Enjolras for endless moments, as if he was trying to read him. Something in his eyes softened but his lips continued to form a thin, impassive line. He looked sad, tired, and older than Enjolras had ever seen him. For a fraction of a second, Enjolras hoped that Grantaire would understand and forgive him. But when the cynic lowered his head and sighed, Enjolras could feel all the hope dissipating from his heart.

                “If you really do love me”, Grantaire muttered, head lowered and curls hiding his eyes from Enjolras’ view. “Then… don’t ask me to stay. Because you know I will, Enjolras. I can never deny you anything”, he chocked on the last words. “Just let me go. Don’t follow me. Don’t… don’t make me do this. Not now”.

                “R”, Enjolras whispered softly, gently. Grantaire flinched.

                “Don’t”, he whispered back. “Just don’t”.

                Enjolras took a step back. If Grantaire wanted – requested – space, then what kind of boyfriend would Enjolras be if he denied him? It was the least he could do for the cynic, after all the lies and disappointment. Enjolras should respect his boundaries, and not do anything that Grantaire did not consent to.

                “Ok”, Enjolras said, chocking the words past the knot in his throat. “Ok”, he took a deep breath and nodded, even though Grantaire couldn’t see him. “Just… just remember, R, that I’m really, really sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, or to get you killed. I just wanted to make you happy. Because I love you. I should have told you before and I’m really sorry for only realizing this now. I hope…. This…”, he trailed off and sighed with resignation. “I’m just really sorry. I thought I was doing what was best, and I should have thought better. Please, forgive me, R”, he finished with a whisper. Grantaire unceremoniously yanked the apartment building’s door open, and the sound of the street flooded the empty hall. Grantaire stepped out without another word.

                “Wait!”, Enjolras begged one last time, and could see Grantaire tense up at the request. “Where are you going?”, Enjolras asked sadly, concern clear in his tone.

                “I don’t know”, Grantaire admitted. “Probably waste the rest of my life away”.

                Then he was gone, and the door closed slowly behind him with a soft click that was a much gentler sound than Enjolras felt like he deserved. He stood by himself in the middle of the empty hall, staring at the empty space that had been occupied by Grantaire mere seconds before, and it was only then that he allowed himself to choke out a broken, miserable sob that he had been holding for what felt like an eternity. However, he felt too numb and too unreal to cry, and an indescribable emptiness flooded his very being as he climbed the stairs back to his apartment, the realization that he had lost Grantaire sinking slowly into his chest and dragging his heart down with it.

                Combeferre found Enjolras lying on a fetal position on the floor of the man’s bedroom on the next morning, Brownie idly licking at the man’s foot, while Joly found Grantaire passed out in a puddle of his own vomit on a cold, forgotten ally outside his least favorite bar.

 


	13. Chapter 13

“Enjolras, you can’t stay there forever”.

                Silence.

                “You know you will have to get up eventually, so why not do it right now? I am sure that your bed is a more comfortable place to lie at, rather than the floor”.

                More silence. Nothing could be heard other than shallow breathing and Brownies’ little sniffs on his owner’s hair.

                “Please. I’m worried. Don’t make me call Joly”.

                A heavy sigh.

                “Joly hates me”, came the muffled voice from the curled lump on the floor.

                “Why would Joly hate you?”, Combeferre frowned.

                “He _knows_ , which means he hates me”.

                “Please, do remember that I have no idea what’s going on here. I arrived and found you curled in this position on the floor; you have told me nothing about what happened, Enjolras. Tell me how to help you”.

                Silence, once again. Combeferre sighed.

                “Please”, he tried again. His back was growing achy from staying on the same position for nearly half an hour, trying to urge any sort of life from Enjolras, and his heart was tightening inside his chest with each worried beat. He had arrived to see Enjolras in that state on the floor, with no clue whatsoever to what had happened to him. Combeferre had thought Enjolras was with Grantaire, but the cynic was nowhere inside the apartment. The bed was still unmade and the apartment was normal and clean. No signs of fighting. Combeferre really couldn’t tell what was wrong with his friend.

                He had his personal suspicions, but he wouldn’t dare to vocalize them, not with Enjolras on that state. He’d rather hear the story from his best friend himself.

However, Enjolras stayed as still as a statue, to the point that not even the rise and fall of his chest with each breath could be seen. Brownie was chewing on one of his owner’s curls and Combeferre gently pulled him away before he could choke on the hair. Before Enjolras could answer to his plea, though, Combeferre’s phone begun to ring inside his pocket, the sound loud and piercing in comparison to the deadly silence inside Enjolras’ bedroom. With a heavy sigh and a last worried look towards Enjolras’ curled up form, Combeferre fished the phone out of his pockets to see that it was Joly calling him.

“Hi, Joly”, Combeferre greeted, taking the phone to his ear and barely trying to hide the upset tone of his voice.

“Where are you?”, Joly asked simply, dryly. Combeferre realized that he was on full doctor-mode, and that was enough to make his chest grow even tighter. Had Enjolras done what he thought he had done? Had he told Grantaire the truth?

“I’m at Enjolras. Why?”, Combeferre responded, shifting uncomfortably on his sitting position on the floor. His eyes were glued to Enjolras’ frozen form, worry evident in them.

“I need to speak to him and he’s not answering his phone”, Joly said, once again dryly, and Combeferre clicked his tongue.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen”, Combeferre replied apologetically. “He’s not very responsive right now”.

“What do you mean?”, Combeferre could basically hear the frown in Joly’s voice, but the doctor’s worry was well veiled.

“I arrived at his apartment half an hour ago, and he has been lying in a fetal position on the floor without moving ever since. I don’t even know how long he’s been here, and he’s refusing to talk to me. I only managed to get a couple of phrases from him so far”.

“Well, pass him the phone. This is about Grantaire”, Joly announced with a firm voice. Combeferre glued his eyes on Enjolras, whose back was turned to him, before saying:

“What about Grantaire?”

Enjolras shuddered slightly, and if Combeferre hadn’t been watching so closely, he would never have noticed it. Otherwise, Enjolras didn’t move.

“Well, you fucking tell me”, Joly snapped, and one of Combeferre’s eyebrows actually shot up at this. Joly rarely cursed, unless he was under a lot of stress, which meant that the situation may be more serious than Combeferre had first thought. “I just found him passed out on an alley, covered in vomit, completely unresponsive and the owner of the bar said he spent the _entire day_ drinking, up from ten a.m.! Do you even know what time it is?”

Combeferre subconsciously turned his head to look at the clock sitting at Enjolras’ nightstand, flinching when he remembered that it only showed that hideous countdown, and not the actual time. Turning back towards his friend, he took the phone away from his ear and checked the time, noticing it was around 9 p.m. Which meant that Grantaire had spent 11 hours drinking in a bar.

God. Enjolras had definitely told him the truth.

“How is he, Joly?”, Combeferre asked, instead of answering Joly’s question. The doctor sighed heavily in resignation.

“He’s passed out in his bedroom. Lesgle and Chetta helped me bring him back home. He’s in a horrible shape, Ferre. The only time he spoke to me was when he was vomiting his brains out and kept saying something about how he was going to die”, Combeferre held his breath. Joly didn’t seem to notice. “I haven’t been scared like this since the Enjolras’-birthday-party situation. I need to know what happened”, the last phrase was spoken like a plea, making Combeferre let out a shaky breath. If Enjolras had told Grantaire the truth, then it wouldn’t be long before Joly and Bossuet heard about it as well.

But, considering the fact that Joly suffered from severe anxiety and that Grantaire was his best friend, Combeferre figured he couldn’t tell the doctor about the countdown on that circumstances, over the phone and with Grantaire passed out on his bed after drinking a day away. Plus, this was Enjolras’ story to tell, not his.

“We shouldn’t discuss this over the phone”, Combeferre said simply, pinching at the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. Brownie gave up on trying to urge some life into Enjolras and strolled his way to the guide, who had allowed himself to slip back and lean his head against Enjolras’ bed on the floor. “All I can tell you is that Enjolras has been lying on the floor for what seems to be like hours and refuses to talk to me. They probably fought”.

“ _Fought?_ ”, Joly asked, exasperated. “This was no normal fight of theirs! Like I said, I haven’t seen Grantaire in such a lousy state since Enjolras’ birthday last year, and I take it you _still remember_ what happened on that occasion, don’t you, Combeferre?”, Joly asked almost accusingly.

Combeferre sighed. Enjolras’ birthday from the previous year ended up being somewhat… problematic.

Enjolras had never enjoyed drinking, specially during social situations in which he could lose control of himself. Actually, he didn’t even like going out much, which was why everyone was taken aback when the leader announced that his birthday party would take place at the Corinthe. Of course, it had been Courfeyrac’s (very insistent) idea, and Enjolras had given up trying to reason with him after the third week of Courfeyrac whining about “having proper fun with your friends on your birthday”. And it was not like Enjolras could come up with better plans, anyway. Since it had been Courfeyrac to plan the party, he was also charged with providing the drinks, which was a very dangerous thing for anyone who knew Courfeyrac at all. Tasty fruity drinks that barely had any taste of alcohol at all ended up having the whole party (i.e.: the Amis) drunk in less than two hours, and Enjolras, being unused to drinking and, therefore, a lightweight, found himself completely wasted in half of that time.

Of course, having Enjolras that wasted was already bad enough at it was, but things were yet to get even worse. Especially after Jehan convinced everyone to play truth or dare at the dark, back room of the Corinthe.

Combeferre shuddered at the memory. He barely remembered anything from that night, due to the amount of alcohol that Courfeyrac had tricked him into consuming, but he could still feel Enjolras’ warm, full lips pressing against his own. It had been Marius’ dare – of course it had to be Marius, hadn’t it, the man had a special talent to obliviousness – and both Combeferre and Enjolras had been drunk enough to accept without hesitation. The same way Enjolras failed to notice the way Grantaire’s face dropped completely as soon as his lips connected with Combeferre’s, Combeferre himself failed to notice the begrudged look on Courfeyrac’s face as he allowed his tongue to explore Enjolras’ lower lip.

Seeing Enjolras lying in a fetal positon on the floor now made Combeferre shudder. He faintly wondered if things would have been different, had Marius not dared Enjolras to kiss Combeferre back on that day. He wondered if Enjolras’ feelings for Grantaire would have blossomed sooner, had Combeferre not kissed him in front of the cynic. He wondered if, somehow, not kissing Enjolras could have prevented Grantaire’s death, somehow. That dared, unnatural kiss they had shared seemed to be the kick-starter to all of the unfortunate events that they had been forced to deal with for the past month, but maybe that was just Combeferre’s mind trying to shift the guilt onto himself. He had been drunk and wrong to kiss Enjolras in front of Grantaire, and even after a year, he felt bad about it. He could only be thankful that the kiss hadn’t lasted longer than half a second, and that Enjolras and he hadn’t gotten further than shyly intertwining their tongues. After all, they were just friends, and neither Combeferre nor Enjolras had ever nourished any sort of non-platonic attraction for each other. They had just been stupid and drunk enough to kiss in front of everyone because of a stupid dare.

If there was something that Combeferre remembered, was how awkward and tense everybody seemed to have been after he and Enjolras parted from their making out session. Enjolras had fallen back on his butt, right beside Grantaire, who had promptly avoided his eyes, and the leader had giggled drunkenly as he leant on the cynic for support. Jehan had seemed to regret the decision to play truth or dare, Marius had seemed pretty happy with himself, unaware of Cosette’s disbelieving look aimed towards him, and Courfeyrac had looked very, very angry at no one in particular. The party ended minutes after that, of course, and Courfeyrac was charged with the task of taking both Combeferre and Enjolras home. When Enjolras woke up on the following day, he didn’t remember anything at all about his problematic party, and Combeferre was thankful for that. Neither he, or none of the Amis, ever brought up the subject of the kiss that Enjolras and Combeferre had (been coerced to) share, and Enjolras was completely unaware of it, to the point of thinking that Grantaire had been his first kiss ever.

But of course, Grantaire was anything but a lightweight. It took him more than fruity drinks to get wasted, which meant that he remembered everything from that night. He remembered watching, in front of his very eyes, Enjolras passionately – or so he thought – making out with Combeferre. Reasonably, Grantaire had thought that there was something going on between the two men, since their friendship had always been very intimate. And that was enough to make him search for something stronger than fruity drinks to be able to get himself drunk.

Combeferre shuddered once more upon remembering his arrival at the ER on the day following Enjolras’ party. Grantaire’s state was bad. He had to get his stomach pumped, and was forced to stay in the hospital for several days. Enjolras, unaware that he and his shared kiss with Combeferre had been the reason for Grantaire to drink so much on that night, yelled at the cynic for being so reckless and irresponsible towards his life. They had one of their worst fights ever on that day, and refused to speak to each other for weeks.

This all had taken place a year ago. Combeferre scoffed as he realized how much had changed in the Enjolras-Grantaire dynamics ever since. This whole countdown story felt too surreal in comparison to everything that the two men had ever faced so far.

Combeferre had – and still – felt very guilty about the incident on Enjolras’ birthday party. He had never seen Enjolras as anything other than a friend, his best friend, and his heart already belonged to somebody else. He hadn’t considered how much his actions would hurt Grantaire, whose feelings for Enjolras were quite blatant, under the cloud of drunkenness and intoxication on that night. Joly had been the one to calm Combeferre down as the guide sobbed helplessly by Grantaire’s bedside on that hospital after the stomach pump. Deep down, he knew it had been his fault.

“Are you still there?”, came Joly’s voice from the phone, and Combeferre finally realized that he had been silent for too long, too lost in his memories. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry”, he said, and after a small pause, added: “Of course I remember”.

“Then you understand why I’m this worried”, Joly responded simply, with straight-forwardness.

“Does he need the hospital?”, Combeferre asked, not even remembering that Enjolras was still pouting at the floor in front of him. Upon hearing these words, the leader immediately – and finally – shifted on his position on the floor, turning his head to stare at Combeferre in horror. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. The guide met Enjolras’ eyes and tried to pass him an apologetic look.

“Not for now”, Joly said, voice more grievous than it had been before. “But if he stays unresponsive for too long, I’ll have to take him. I just… don’t understand”, he added, sounding tired and in need of a break. Combeferre nodded sadly, even though he knew Joly couldn’t see him. Enjolras kept staring at Combeferre with wide, fearful eyes.

“Let me know of his progress, then, since he’s home with you”, Combeferre said, nodding at Enjolras in an attempt to reassure him about Grantaire’s condition. The leader’s shoulders relaxed, if only a little bit. “And what don’t you understand?”

“They were doing so good”, Joly sighed, voice tight. Combeferre realized that his friend was on the verge of tears, and felt bad for him. It really wasn’t easy to Joly, dealing with Grantaire whenever he went on self-destructive rampages. The young doctor always came out of said situations looking older than he actually was. “They were going to dance tango on that contest tomorrow. I just don’t get what went wrong. They haven’t had a fight this bad since before they started dating”.

“I’m sure we will figure it out, Joly”, Combeferre attempted to reassure him. “I’m sure _they_ will figure it out. Do you want me to step by later so we can talk properly? Maybe I can help you with something”, he offered gently.

“What about Enjolras?”, Joly asked, and Combeferre could hear a familiar ‘tec-tec-tec” too close to the speaker that indicated that Joly was biting on his nails. The fact that Joly was ignoring hygiene in favor to return to an old habit indicated how nervous he was.

“He’ll be fine. I will try and speak to him now, see what I can help him with”, Combeferre said, eyes fixed on Enjolras, who lowered his head. He didn’t go back to lying on a fetal position, though, which Combeferre took as a good sign.

“Well, it’s up to y- oh, shit. Oh, no, shit. Fuck!”, Joly exclaimed, startling Combeferre, whose face twisted into a deep frown.

“Joly?”, Combeferre immediately asked, sitting up straighter on the floor and holding the phone with a tighter grip. He could feel Enjolras tense up in front of him as well. “Joly? What is it? Are you ok?”, he asked frantically, startling Brownie, who darted away. There was a clacking sound that indicated that Joly had probably dropped the phone, and the sound of wheezing and spluttering.

“Fuck, on your side R, turn on your side, you fucking – yes, yes, that’s right!”, came Joly’s muffled voice. Combeferre’s heart leaped on his chest as he heard the loud sound of retching and vomiting. “Let it out! Let it all out, that’s it!”, Joly cheered. Combeferre nervously waited for the doctor to pick up his phone, aware of Enjolras’ even wider eyes still glued on him.

“Joly? Are you there?”, Combeferre tried again, and after a few pants, coughs and shuffling, Joly picked the phone back up.

“Sorry, I had to keep R from chocking on his own vomit”, Joly explained in a tired voice. “Listen, I’ll be kind of busy now that he’s woken up, give me a call when you sort things out with Enjolras, ok?”, he asked, with the straightforwardness of a doctor. Combeferre nodded once again.

“Fine”, Combeferre said. “Call me if anything happens to him, ok?”

“Will do”, Joly responded absentmindedly, clearly too distracted to pay any mind to what Combeferre might still have to say.

“Ok. Talk to you later Joly”, Combeferre said politely.

“Bye”, the doctor responded distantly, hurriedly, before hanging up. Combeferre finally let go of the device in his hands, setting it to the side and sighing heavily. He took his glasses of and cleaned the lenses on the edge of his shirt, ignoring the fact that Brownie was idly licking the screen of his phone.

“How is he?”, Enjolras asked, voice hoarse and rough. Now that Combeferre could properly see his face, which had been hidden ever since his arrival, he could see the dark, puffy bags beneath the leader’s eyes and the exhausted look in his dropped, tense face. After reading his friend for a few moments, Combeferre leant back once again.

“He’ll be fine”, Combeferre said simply, placing his glasses back on. “Joly is taking care of him”.

“What did he do?”, Enjolras reformulated the question, guiltily biting at his lower lip. He sounded slightly scared to hear Combeferre’s answer, and looked like a complete mess, so different from the stoic, methodical Enjolras from the birthday party from a year ago. The amount of changes they had gone through once again troubled Combeferre.

“He spent the whole day drinking on a bar”, Combeferre explained with a resigned sigh, groaning as he stood up from his sitting position on the floor. Enjolras watched him, not moving. “Joly found him completely wasted and took him home. He’s keeping an eye on him. Hopefully he won’t need to have his stomach pumped, so at least there’s that”, Combeferre shrugged, standing directly in front of Enjolras and staring down at him in a paternal way. “Are you going to get up or do you intend to spend the rest of the night lying on the floor?”

Enjolras averted his gaze to Combeferre’s foot instead, guiltily, and didn’t show any reluctance when his best friend took his hands and pulled him into a standing position. His knees wobbled and he looked a little dizzy, but he allowed Combeferre to guide him to the bed and gently sit him down. Brownie followed them closely, and Enjolras picked the puppy up to place him on his lap with trembling hands.

Realizing that the silence between them was going to continue to stretch if he did nothing, Combeferre sighed and cleared his throat.

“I am not going to force you to have this conversation with me”, he told Enjolras as patiently as he could, sat beside him but not meeting his eyes. They were both staring straight ahead. “But as I’ve told you repeatedly over the years, it’s not healthy to keep your feelings to yourself”.

Enjolras sighed, worrying at his lower lip. He looked unhealthily pale and his cheeks were still damp, which indicated that he had been still crying while Combeferre sat beside him. He finally took a deep shaky breath before speaking up.

“I told him”, Enjolras said with a small, shaky voice. Brownie tried to lick his tear-covered face, but Enjolras held him in place with little effort.

“I had figured that much”, Combeferre said, trying to sound as comprehensive as he could. “But why, Enjolras?”

Enjolras turned his head to look at Combeferre, his eyes tired and confused.

“Why what?”, he asked, putting Brownie back down on the floor.

“The countdown ends tomorrow. If you managed to spend this long without telling him, why tell him now?”, Combeferre frowned. Enjolras sighed, placing Brownie back on the floor and slowly lying on the bed, his head and legs hanging from the edges.

“He’s been having nightmares”, Enjolras said, and only continued after a small pause. “About his death. I just couldn’t keep the truth from him anymore”, he shrugged sadly. “I should probably have kept my mouth shut. He hates me now. And he has good reason to”.

“He doesn’t hate you”, Combeferre replied with no hesitation. “He’s just hurt, Enjolras”, he added, no accusation in his tone. “He’ll come around”.

“When?”, Enjolras scoffed, a humorless smile that resembled Grantaire’s painting his lips. “During the day he has left of his life? We both know that when Grantaire is upset, it takes him days to come around”.

“I believe we both came to the conclusion that we can’t know for sure what will happen by the end of the countdown”, Combeferre once again removed his glasses, coming absentmindedly to the realization that this was becoming a habit. He pinched and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, placing the glasses back on before he uselessly cleaned them again.

“Balance of probability”, Enjolras passed an arm around his face to cover his eyes (both to protect it from the light and to have a reason not to stare at Combeferre). “Not much has been working out very well for me, recently”.

“I understand that you must be very upset”, Combeferre put his glasses back on. “But spending the rest of your life lying down on the floor won’t do you any good. You need to take care, Enjolras”.

“You _don’t_ understand”, Enjolras said grievously, turning on his side so that his back was turned to Combeferre. “You didn’t hear the words he said to me”.

“What did he say to you?”, Combeferre asked patiently, rubbing a comforting hand on Enjolras’ back. The leader went back to being still, knees pulled up to his chest. Despite of this vulnerable position, Enjolras’ voice was firm and steady when he spoke, lacking the shakiness that it had presented before.

“He said that the reason I didn’t tell him before was because I didn’t want to admit he had been right all along”, he said sternly. Almost angrily.

“Right?”, Combeferre frowned.

“About the revolution”, Enjolras sighed in resignation.

“I don’t follow”, Combeferre’s frown deepened. Enjolras scoffed.

“Grantaire has always been cynical towards our cause, that’s no news to anyone. After a while I got used to his banter, but he knew how upset I always got whenever he talked about me, leading my friends to their deaths. _He always_ said that. Do you remember?”

Combeferre sighed, giving in and lying down beside Enjolras, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yes”, Combeferre said simply. Grantaire had always had a liking for teasing Enjolras on sensitive matters.

“He thinks that the reason I didn’t tell him before was because I was unwilling to confirm his beliefs that the cause would end up getting somebody killed”, Enjolras said. “He didn’t believe me when I told him that I loved him, and he called me selfish when I tried to explain my reasons for hiding the truth for so long”, Enjolras turned so that he was lying on his back, arm glued to Combeferre’s as they lied side by side. “I don’t understand, Ferre”, he continued, voice going back to shaky from unshed tears. “He was angry that I didn’t tell him because I thought he would self-destruct, but then he went and self-destructed all the same! He basically just proved my point”, he huffed out a breath.

“Grantaire is a complex man”, Combeferre tried to reason. “I believe these things he does are stronger than him”.

“But why would he do that?”, Enjolras basically whined, turning on his side again, but facing Combeferre this time. Now that he had finally moved after spending the entire day lying on the floor, he couldn’t stop fidgeting and moving around. “Why would he tell me those horrible things and then just confirm that I had been right to hide the truth all along?”

“Okay, my friend, let’s slow down”, Combeferre turned on his side, mimicking Enjolras and facing the leader as well. “Try to understand that Grantaire must have been very confused, and that he must have felt a lot of things at the same time. He had just found that he could die tomorrow; he probably didn’t mean most of the things he said, just as you don’t mean the harsh words you tell him whenever you two fight. Sentiment took the best of him”.

“He didn’t believe that I love him”, Enjolras whispered simply, shaking his head and not meeting Combeferre’s eyes. It suddenly felt as if the leader was arguing with himself. “He… I told him over and over that I loved him, but he didn’t… he…”, Enjolras cut himself off before he could start crying again, lowering his head and biting on his lower lip. Combeferre stepped into action and pulled him to an embrace.

“It’s ok, Enj”, he comforted. “It’s going to be ok”.

“I don’t want him to die being mad at me”, Enjolras said, voice muffled by Combeferre’s shoulders. “I don’t want him to die at all. I can’t lose him”.

“Oh, Enj”, Combeferre said sadly. A small pause. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help you more. All the research I did –“

“I know”, Enjolras sniffed. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine”.

“It isn’t”, Combeferre retorted simply, because what else could he say? He had already made his opinion on Enjolras’ guilt very clear. And right on that moment, it didn’t feel like Enjolras would pay any attention to his advices.

“But it is. I know it is”, Enjolras broke the hug gently, going back to lying on his back and staring at the ceiling with moist eyes. He sighed in resignation. “Still, I don’t regret telling him the truth. He deserved to know. It’s his life. It was the least I could do. Right?”, he asked, sounding like a lost child in need of reassurance.

“You did what you thought would be best”, Combeferre smiled patiently, sadly, absentmindedly fishing his phone out of his pocket. Enjolras paid him no attention.

“I just wish… things could have happened differently”, Enjolras said, regret clear in his tone. “I wish he could understand why I didn’t tell him before. That I only did this to protect him”.

“Maybe you should try and reach out for him”, Combeferre suggested, at the same time he texted Courfeyrac to meet them at Enjolras’. “Tomorrow morning. When he’s calmer”.

“He won’t speak to me”, Enjolras said, defeatist. “He… You didn’t see the look in his eyes. The betrayal, the anger, the… the hurt”, Enjolras flinched. “He hates me”.

“It’s Grantaire”, Combeferre said patiently, putting his phone back in his pocket. “He could never hate you. You two just need to figure this out”.

“ _When_?”, Enjolras asked, eyes glued to the ceiling. “The countdown ends tomorrow at midnight. Like I said, it takes Grantaire longer than a day to lick his wounds and accept to make peace. _If_ he accepts to make peace”.

Combeferre raised a hand to his chin, thinking for a few silent moments before speaking up.

“Try talking to him during the contest, tomorrow”, Combeferre suggested. Enjolras frowned, finally turning his head to stare at his friend.

“What?”, he asked, a confused tone in his voice as if Combeferre had suggested he cut his own arm off and ate it.

“The tango contest”, Combeferre explained, raising an eyebrow. “Joly mentioned it is tomorrow”.

“Well, yes”, Enjolras frowned, confusion evident in his tone. “But I hardly think he will attend. Even if he’s physically fit to do so after today, he will probably be too angry at me to go”.

“Or, maybe he will go in the hope that you won’t”, Combeferre shrugged, standing up from the bed and walking over to the kitchen. Enjolras hesitated for a few moments before following his best friend, to find him preparing some tea.

“I don’t know”, Enjolras hesitated, sighing and sitting on the kitchen counter. “I don’t know anything anymore, Ferre”, he admitted with a small voice. Combeferre gently settled the teapot on the sink before turning to face his best friend, trying to look as sympathetic as he could.

“My friend, what is the worse that could happen if you went?”, he asked patiently. Enjolras lowered his head, losing himself in deep thought. Combeferre didn’t wait for an answer. “He could either not go”, Combeferre explained, “and then things stay the same, or he could go and you could talk to him”.

“Or he could go and then shout at me again”, Enjolras added grievously. Combeferre couldn’t prevent an eyeroll.

“Come on, now, Enjolras”, he said with an eyebrow raise. “Shouting at each other is what you and Grantaire have always done. It’s never stopped you before”.

“But things weren’t like this before”, Enjolras protested weakly. “He didn’t have a death sentence looming above his head before”, there was a small, tense pause. “I didn’t love him before”, he concluded.

Combeferre didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he turned his back to Enjolras again, pouring tea on their mugs and handing one over to his best friend. The silence between them stretched beyond belief, until the tension was too much for Combeferre to bear.

“I still think you should go”, he said quietly, not meeting Enjolras’ eyes.

“I don’t want him to die being mad at me”, Enjolras refuted with a snort, sipping at his fuming tea.

“If he dies, he will die being mad at you anyway, unless you don’t try and speak to him”, Combeferre shrugged, sitting by the kitchen counter and directly in front of Enjolras, who bit his lower lip nervously.

“Why are you assuming he will go?”, Enjolras finally looked up to meet Combeferre’s eyes. There was hesitation in his eyes, and the slightest tinge of hope.

“Because I will convince him so”, Combeferre explained simply, downing the rest of his tea in one go.

“What?”, Enjolras frowned, standing up from the kitchen table to follow Combeferre when the man walked over to the living room.

“You keep forgetting that Grantaire is my friend, too”, Combeferre said simply, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for Enjolras to sit beside him. “And this tango contest is probably the last chance you two will get at reconciliation. I don’t intend on letting it slide”.

“Yeah, but what if he doesn’t listen to you?”, Enjolras raised an inquisitive eyebrow, sitting beside his best friend.

“Why wouldn’t he?”, Combeferre pulled Enjolras closer.

“He’s Grantaire”, Enjolras chuckled humorlessly. “And you’re my best friend. He’ll know you’ll probably be taking my side, and since he’s as stubborn as a mule, he’ll probably do the extreme opposite of what you say”.

“Enjolras, don’t worry about that just now”, Combeferre sighed, slowly caressing Enjolras’ curls in the way he knew the leader loved, as if to ease him down. “Leave that to me. Do you want to make peace with Grantaire?”

“Of course”, Enjolras said with no hesitation.

“Then be at the contest tomorrow on time. I’ll make sure he’ll be there”, Combeferre reassured with a playful tug at Enjolras’ curls.

“What if he goes?”, Enjolras shook his head, melting into Combeferre’s embrace and resting his head at his friend’s chest. “What if I speak to him, and he still hates me anyway?”

“He will see reason, Enjolras”, Combeferre said. “He will understand why you did what you did”.

“This sounds as unreal as the countdown story”, Enjolras shook his head sadly.

“He will”, Combeferre squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “I promise you he will. Just try to relax and eat something, ok? I promise you, everything will get better”.

“How can you know that?”, Enjolras asked, helplessness clear in his shaky voice.

“Because you two have both suffered a great deal already. It’s about time you get to be happy with each other”.

“I don’t care about me suffering”, Enjolras shrugged with disinterest. “All I care about is R. As long as he’s alive and happy, he can hate me all he wants”, he admitted. “I just… I can’t have him die on me again”.

“That’s not healthy, Enjolras”, Combeferre said sadly.

“I know”, Enjolras nodded grievously.

Another long silence stretched between them.

And then the doorbell rang.

Enjolras was on his feet immediately, believing it was Grantaire on the door, and he would have run to open it if it was not for the dizziness that overcame him from standing up too fast. He had to lean on the couch’s armrest for support, and Combeferre walked past him with ease before yanking the door open to reveal a hesitant Courfeyrac. Enjolras frowned, and without bothering to hide his disappointment, fell back on the couch.

“Hi”, Courfeyrac greeted, seeing Enjolras’ face drop and mimicking his frown. He looked a little upset.

“Hey, Courf”, Combeferre greeted with a small smile. “Come in”.

Courfeyrac entered the apartment and walked over to the living room as if expecting a trap to catch his feet any moment. Enjolras didn’t meet his eyes as he approached him, pulling his knees up to his chest and placing his chin on the top of them instead. Combeferre closed the front door and walked over to where Courfeyrac was standing, and side by side, they stared at Enjolras’ pouty form.

“All right, what’s this funeral all about?”, Courfeyrac asked, raising his eyebrows and placing both hands on his hips. “The apartment is all dark and closed up, Enjolras is looking like he’s been crying for 75 years straight and you didn’t put heart emojis on the end of your text to me as you usually do”, Courfeyrac pointed at Combeferre, before closing the distance between himself and the couch with two large steps and sitting on the extreme opposite side of Enjolras. He crossed his legs and spread his arms on the back of the couch, looking lighthearted, but Combeferre could see the tension in his brow. “So?”, Courfeyrac urged, raising a single eyebrow at Combeferre. “What’s going on?”

“Enjolras told Grantaire”, Combeferre explained simply, and those three words were enough to make Courfeyrac’s expression drop and his whole body language change. He leaned forward on the couch, a serious, worried look in his face as he turned his head to stare at Enjolras.

“Oh shit”, he muttered quietly, dragging himself on the couch to approach the leader’s sunken form. He looked like he wanted to touch Enjolras and offer him comfort, but didn’t know how to do that. “Oh fuck, Enjolras. How are you? How did it go? Are you ok?”

“They fought”, Combeferre explained with a sigh, crossing his arms and sparing Enjolras the trouble to speak. “Joly is taking care of Grantaire. He found him wasted on a bar”.

“Ah, crap”, Courfeyrac rubbed a hand on his face. “Why did you do that, Enjolras?”, he asked, but from the way he warily looked up at Combeferre after saying those words, it was clear that he instantly regretted them.

“I couldn’t keep the truth from him anymore”, Enjolras said, not raising his head. His voice was muffled. “I just couldn’t. He deserved to know”.

“Yes, love, but _now_?”, Courfeyrac’s face twisted in disapproval. “On the eve of the countdown’s end?”

“Courf”, Combeferre said simply, a warning tone in his voice.

“Fine, fine”, Courfeyrac gave in, leaning back against the couch and enveloping Enjolras in a sideways hug with one of his arms. “I bet you are feeling pretty crappy, aren’t you?”

Enjolras didn’t have the energy to deny or argue with his friend, so he simply nodded.

“I can understand that”, Courfeyrac said solemnly, a determined look in his face. “Say, do you have any baking powder here?”, he asked.

“I don’t suppose so”, Enjolras frowned.

“Oh, bummer. I didn’t want to have to go to the convenience store this late, but I suppose we will have to”, Courfeyrac shrugged, letting go of Enjolras standing up from the couch.

“Pardon me?”, Enjolras frowned, raising his head and noticing that Combeferre had the same confused look on his face.

“We are going to bake a cake”, Courfeyrac explained as if it was obvious. “Now come on. Get off this ridiculous hoodie and put some real clothes on”.

“I’m not going”, Enjolras frowned, staying at the same position on the couch.

“Yes, you are”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, grabbing one of Enjolras’ hands and pulling him off the couch with a single abrupt yank. Enjolras stumbled to his feet, but Courf’s hands on him eased him into a standing position. “Combeferre wouldn’t have called me here unless he needed me to watch you for him, and what kind of babysitter would I be if I left you here alone? You’re coming. Go change into some socially acceptable clothes”.

“Since when have I cared about what society deems as acceptable in the terms of fashion?”, Enjolras frowned, even though he was allowing Courfeyrac to push him across the hall and into his bedroom.

“Since you decided to be best friends with me. And I won’t allow myself to be seen beside a man who wears this smelly, ragged hoodie with… oh my god, Enjolras, are these sweater pants?”, he exclaimed dramatically. Combeferre noticed that this was Courfeyrac’s subtle way of trying to cheer Enjolras up. Enjolras, however, didn’t seem to have the same perception.

“This is Grantaire’s hoodie”, he said sadly, voice small and constricted as if he was about to cry again.

“Oh my _god_ ”, Courfeyrac sighed loudly, throwing his head back. “Screw it. I’ll pick your clothes myself”, he said, pushing Enjolras against the bed and walking over to his wardrobe. He idly checked the clothes before throwing a pair of jeans and a red shirt on his friend. “There. Wear these”.

“Do I really have to go?”, Enjolras asked almost childishly.

“Listen, Enj”, Courfeyrac said patiently, sitting beside Enjolras and taking his hands into his. “Despite of what people may think, I’m the aunt friend”, he explained. “You’re feeling miserable and sad and comprehensibly so. I’m feeling the same way, since one of my closest friends may die tomorrow and there’s nothing I can do to stop that”, he added, and a hard stabbing went through Enjolras’ heart. He kept forgetting that Grantaire’s possible death would affect other people as well. Maybe he was every bit as selfish as Grantaire said he was. “But staying inside your dusty apartment doing nothing other than feeling sorry for ourselves will do more harm than good”, Courfeyrac continued. “So we are going out, buying supplies, and then we’ll bake a cake and eat it to distract ourselves. And tomorrow you can sort out your quarrel with Grantaire”.

“ _Quarrel_ ”, Combeferre whispered, amusement and astonishment evident in his voice. There was a big, teasing smile on his face. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes once again.

“What? I’m allowed to use fancy words every now and then”, he said.

“I thought you’d said that it would ruin your reputation and make people think you’re a nerd”, Combeferre raised an eyebrow.

“Well, this is your fault then”, Courfeyrac said accusingly. “You gave me the nerd cooties”.

“Ugh, fine”, Enjolras sighed, exasperated, and finally removed Grantaire’s hoodie. “I’ll go to the groceries with you, just please stop flirting in my presence”, he said, putting the red shirt on. If Enjolras didn’t know him better, he would say the redness in Courfeyrac’s face was an embarrassed blush.

“I’ll…”, Combeferre hesitated, clearly awkward, and cleared his throat before continuing. “I have to… I promised I’d step by Joly’s”, he explained. Enjolras didn’t bother looking at him as he put his jeans on – Courfeyrac had been right all along. Combeferre had only called him over so that he could keep an eye on Enjolras while he was gone. As if Enjolras was a child. As if Enjolras was an invalid.

Was this what had become of him? A broken, fragile man, who needed to be watched and taken care of? Had love destroyed him so much to the point of him becoming completely unrecognizable to himself?

 _As long as it is Grantaire’s love, I’d have it destroy me without thinking twice_ , he thought to himself. Enjolras shook his head, trying to keep that sort of thought away from his head. Courfeyrac was right. There was nothing he could do for the day and staying over feeling sorry for himself would do him no good. He put his shoes on and stood up from the bed.

Still, he didn’t dare look in the mirror. Seeing the mess that he had probably become would only hurt him further.

“Alright, let’s go!”, Courfeyrac exclaimed, even if the excitement in his voice was a bit forced, and they left the apartment after Enjolras made sure that Brownie had enough food and water, even though they would be back soon. Combeferre accompanied them down the stairs of the building but they parted ways as they reached the street.

“Don’t worry, Enjolras”, Combeferre had reassured, two hands squeezing his shoulders. “Everything will be all right. I’ll talk to R, and make sure he’s ok”.

“Text me what you know?”, Enjolras asked, hating how weak his own voice sounded.

“I’ll keep you updated”, Combeferre nodded, and then he was gone.

Courfeyrac was not being his usually loud and cheerful self as they made their way to the store, but he was still trying his best to keep Enjolras entertained and distracted and Enjolras could only be thankful for that. As much as he loved Combeferre and appreciated his attempts to brighten Enjolras’ mood by eliminating his worries, Courfeyrac had always been better at helping Enjolras feel better. While Combeferre tried to help Enjolras through the use of logic and probability, Courfeyrac simply reassured him that things would be ok, not because of empiric evidence or reason, but just because he was telling him so. For some inexplicable reason, Enjolras found that more comforting.

They bought the supplies to bake the cake and Enjolras found himself rolling his eyes and smiling softly as Courfeyrac attempted flirting with the cashier. The flirting was so forced and blatantly bad that Enjolras suspected that Courfeyrac was only doing that to earn a smile from Enjolras. As always, he had succeeded.

The walk back home was silent but easy, and Courfeyrac only spoke again when they re-entered Enjolras’ apartment.

“Ok, monsieur, now, everyone knows how atrocious you are at cooking, so I’ll be doing that part”, Courfeyrac announced, spreading the ingredients over the kitchen counter. “You’ll be responsible for cleaning the dishes and handing me the ingredients. Maybe I can even teach you a thing or two”.

“It’s not as if you’re a great cooker yourself”, Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“Shush, now. Don’t distract the chef”, Courfeyrac said, taking bowls and pots from Enjolras’ counter. They began cooking the cake in silence, only orders and requests being said in the meantime. Enjolras ended up locking Brownie up inside his bedroom to prevent the puppy from possibly injuring himself in the kitchen, and he had to pretend that his heart didn’t ache as he held the tiny puppy against his chest, remembering the night that Grantaire had brought him. Courfeyrac noticed that Enjolras’ mood was down again when he returned from the bedroom, so he sprinkled a bit of flour over the leader’s cheek.

“All right, mister, let’s play a game”, he announced, mixing the dough with his hands. “I say Robespierre, Montesquieu and Lamarque”.

“I have no idea what you’re saying”, Enjolras sighed tiredly, looking sad.

“Fuck, marry, kill”, Courfeyrac explained, frowning at Enjolras. “You’ve never played this?!”, he asked, exasperated.

“Do I really look like someone who plays a game called ‘fuck, marry, kill?’”, Enjolras gave Courfeyrac a disappointed look.

“There’s always a first time for everything, Enjolras”, Courfeyrac threw his arms dramatically. “All right. It’s pretty simple. I give you three people, and you decide which you want to marry, which you want to fuck and which you want to kill. So let’s go. Robespierre, Montesquieu and Lamarque”.

“Lamarque, as in, my former professor?”, Enjolras frowned, slightly thrown aback.

“Yes, the one and only”, Courfeyrac grinned. Upon Enjolras’ silence, he continued. “Oh, come on, don’t play the fool now. We all know you had a huge hard on for the guy. I don’t judge you, though”, he chuckled when Enjolras blushed.

“I don’t think I want to play this game”, Enjolras said with a sulky expression.

“Why not?”, Courfeyrac inquired, sounding actually offended.

“Because the only person I want to marry is Grantaire”, Enjolras said, voice shy and low.

“Ohhhhhhhhh myyyyy goooooood”, Courfeyrac wailed loudly, throwing his head and his limbs back. “Jesus fucking Christ, with all these years of pining and sexual tension and obliviousness, I could have never imagined that you two would be the most sickening couple I’d ever meet”.

“We’re not a couple”, Enjolras said grievously. “Not anymore”.

“Whatever you say”, Courfeyrac sighed. “I’ll answer for you. Fuck Lamarque, marry Montesquieu and kill Robespierre. Now, let me see. Beyoncé, David Bowie and Kurt Cobain”.

“I told you I don’t want to play”, Enjolras protested childishly.

“Would you rather have me call Combeferre and tell him that you’re misbehaving?”, Courfeyrac asked threateningly.

“Your hands are covered in flour”, Enjolras noted. “And Combeferre has more important subjects in his minds right now”.

“Ugh, you’re such a spoilsport, Enjolras”, Courfeyrac said with annoyance, turning his back to Enjolras and finishing to mix the dough. They fell into an uneasy silence that soon became too heavy for Enjolras to bear.

“Fine. Fuck David Bowie, marry Beyoncé and kill Kurt Cobain”, Enjolras said grumpily.

“Kill Kurt Cobain?!”, Courfeyrac exclaimed. “What kind of monster are you?”

“… He’s already dead”, Enjolras frowned.

“Fair point. Ok. Hm… Obama, Nixon and JFK”, Courfeyrac grinned wickedly.

“No, that’s just not fair”, Enjolras immediately shook his head. “I’m not answering that”.

“Oh, come on, Enjy!”, Courfeyrac teased, dimples appearing on either side of his huge smile. “Play the game?”

“Just… pick other people”, Enjolras sighed, opening the oven so that Courfeyrac could place the dough inside. “I can’t kill the three of them”.

“Fine, you baby”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, turning the tap on to wash his hands. “Captain America, Thor and Iron Man”.

Enjolras bit his lip in deep thought.

“I’d definitely marry Captain America”, he said pensively, although still apathetically. “I don’t know whether I would fuck Thor or Iron Man”.

“I would have Chris Hemsworth inside my ass without giving it a second thought”, Courfeyrac raised a somewhat disapproving eyebrow, but then his face dropped and he looked around the kitchen as if he was being watched. “Don’t tell Combeferre I said that”, he added in a lower tone. Enjolras giggled, albeit the humor was mostly absent from his voice.

“I think fuck Iron Man and kill Thor”, he added after a few seconds.

“Really? Ugh”, Courfeyrac gave him a dismissive expression. “Well, more Chris Hemsworth for me, then”, he shrugged, placing the dirty dishes on the sink. “Why don’t you wash that for me while I prepare the topping for the cake?”, he suggested. Enjolras got up from his sit and did as Courfeyrac asked him, half-heartedly.

Despite of Courfeyrac’s best attempts to lighten his mood, and despite of the few forced laughs that Enjolras let out just to make his friend happy, he was still feeling terrible about the fight with Grantaire. There was no way, though, for Courfeyrac not to notice how tense Enjolras’ shoulders were, or the constant fidgeting of his hands and quivering of his lower lip. Enjolras was a pile of stress, and even though Courfeyrac was managing to distract him with the silly game, thoughts of a passed out Grantaire (either covered in vomit due to his heavy drinking or covered in blood due to a gunshot that was not meant for him) insisted on flooding Enjolras’ thoughts. His body was aching from lying on the same position for the entirety of the afternoon and his limbs felt heavy from exhaustion and sorrow. There was nothing that Enjolras wanted more than to lie down on his bed and at least try to forget the world for a few hours.

After eating the inevitably hot cake with Courfeyrac (which was actually very tasty), Enjolras washed his dishes and sighed heavily, not knowing what to do. Courfeyrac was the type of person who didn’t easily quit on trying to brighten up the mood of his friends, and Enjolras knew that if he vocalized his wish to go to bed, Courfeyrac would just end up figuring something uplifting to do. And Enjolras was too sad and worried to allow himself to relax.

However, despite of Enjolras’ fears, Courfeyrac seemed to notice his need to rest for once. He silently made his way to Enjolras’ bedroom after he was done with the dishes, the leader right on his heels, and lied down on Enjolras’ bed with an inviting outstretched arm. Enjolras sighed in relief. That was all he wanted. To lie down beside a warm, comforting body – he would prefer it to be Grantaire beside him, but he was thankful enough that he wasn’t entirely alone – and to be comforted. He slipped out of his jeans and lied down on the bed beside Courfeyrac, who immediately pulled Enjolras until he had his head resting against the center’s chest. Enjolras sighed.

He loved placing his head against Grantaire’s chest, hearing his heartbeat. As much as he loved Courfeyrac, his heart beat too slowly and dully. Enjolras was used to Grantaire’s frantic heartbeat, somewhat erratic and nervous, as if Enjolras’ mere presence was enough to make butterflies appear in his stomach.

Would he ever be able to earn Grantaire’s previous admiration for him in the future?

What future?

He didn’t even realize that he had started crying again until Courfeyrac started saying comforting words, a soft hand running up and down on his back in a weak attempt to ease him down. For some reason, this only made Enjolras cry harder, and he found himself burying his face against Courfeyrac’s chest as his fingers clung to the fabric of the man’s shirt. The sounds he was making were pathetic and he was aware of that, but the ache in his heart was too strong for him to bear in silence.

“Shh, shh”, Courfeyrac was muttering softly, voice velvety and calm. “I know, dear, I know. It’s all right to cry. Let it all out”.

Usually, Enjolras would have hated displaying raw emotion like this in front of people, but this was Courfeyrac. He rarely cried, but when he did, he knew that Courfeyrac was the right person to comfort him. He had a softness and a tact that Combeferre seemed not to master, when it came to the matters of Enjolras’ heart.

“I’m here for you”, Courfeyrac was telling him, his voice suspiciously shaky. Enjolras vaguely wondered if he was crying too. “I’m here. You’ll be ok. You’ll be ok. I’ve got you”.

“I don’t want to lose him”, Enjolras said between sobs, voice rough and constricted. Courfeyrac took in a shaky breath.

“None of us do, dearest”, Courfeyrac said in a tone that surprisingly resembled Jehan. “It’s so hard, I know. I know it’s hard”.

“I love him”, Enjolras whined, burring his head deeper as if to hide his face. Courfeyrac held him tighter.

“You do”, Courfeyrac said simply, caressing Enjolras’ curls.

“I don’t want him to… if…”, Enjolras swallowed dry. “If he… dies. I… I don’t want him to die angry at me”.

“He’s not angry at you”, Courfeyrac commented. “He’s probably just… frustrated with this whole situation, and ended up shifting the blame onto you. It will be ok. You’ll see”.

“He has only one day left”, Enjolras commented. His sobs were dying down, but there were still tears running down his flushed cheeks.

“Then use this one day to make it up to him”, Courfeyrac said simply. “Do whatever it takes. This could be your last chance”, he shifted on the bed as if to accommodate Enjolras better. “Everyone knows Prouvaire is the romantic one, but this could be your last chance to show R how much you love him, Enj. Don’t throw it away because of something as stupid as fear. You already have a no for an answer, so fight as hard as you can for the yes, why don’t you?”

Enjolras bit his lower lip, taking in the meaning of Courfeyrac’s words. It made sense. This was his last chance. Maybe he had screwed up, but Enjolras had only been doing what he thought was right. He had managed to make Grantaire happy, even if only for a little while. As much as he hated him now, Enjolras had given him happiness over the course of the month.

Maybe he could make him happy one last time. At least he could try.

Courfeyrac started humming a song that Enjolras thought he recognized, but his brain was too heavy to pay attention to that. He started to doze off against Courfeyrac’s chest, not even realizing he was falling asleep until it was too late. At least the warmness of Courfeyrac’s body against his was a little comfort that he didn’t think he deserved, but was grateful for anyway.

When he woke up the following morning, he found a snoring Courfeyrac curled beside him on his bed, and a text from Combeferre telling him that Grantaire would be at the contest.

Enjolras took in a deep breath and braced himself to deal with what could be the last day of Grantaire’s life.

-

The rented saloon in which the contest would take place was crowded when Enjolras arrived, Courfeyrac and Combeferre right on his heels, and he felt some sort of relief when he spotted more of his friends sat by the stage in which the pairs were supposed to dance. Feuilly, Bahorel and Jehan were already there, chatting lightheartedly and apparently unaware of the fight that Enjolras and Grantaire had had. The trio approached them, and Enjolras refused to meet Jehan’s eyes, afraid that the poet would see the guilt and shame in them.

“Oh my fucking god”, Feuilly exclaimed as soon as he saw Enjolras. “You look fucking _hot_ ”.

Enjolras blushed at this, and the comment only made him shyer than he was already feeling. He had felt pretty stupid in the tight black pants and the shirt he was wearing, but now that he bothered to look around, he could see many men wearing the same garments. He stood silently as they friends engaged in light-hearted conversation, doing his best not to look around and try to find Grantaire in the middle of the crowd. He didn’t know what Grantaire’s reaction would be when he saw him.

Bahorel was making a humorous comment about how he could never picture Enjolras dancing tango when an announcement was made summoning the contesters to the backroom of the saloon so that they could be properly settled and put into a line to present. Enjolras bid his goodbyes to his friends, voice shaky and knees wobbling, before hesitantly walking to the back room without looking around him, he couldn’t look around, he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_.

When he arrived at the backroom, Grantaire was already there. Enjolras spotted the familiar mass of black curls sticking out in the middle of the (slightly less) crowded room, and it didn’t take long for the grey eyes to lock their icy gaze onto Enjolras’ face.

He froze to his feet, and for a moment, it felt like Enjolras and Grantaire were the only people in the room. All sounds dulled down at the sight of Grantaire, whose eyes were covered by dark shadows and who looked unhealthily pale. Despite of that, he stood tall and confident, the dark green shirt he was wearing hanging from his fit frame perfectly, in a way that made Enjolras’ breath catch in his throat.

Someone bumped into him and Enjolras’ legs came to life, making him walk over to Grantaire, who was staring at him with an unusual coldness that made Enjolras’ skin tingle. As soon as Enjolras was near enough to hear him, he spoke up.

“What are you doing here?”, Grantaire asked dryly, and the tone made Enjolras’ heart tighten. Grantaire was never this sharp with him, not even during their famous discussions at the Musain. Tears threatened to pool at Enjolras’ eyes, but he wouldn’t allow them.

“I came to dance with you”, Enjolras said simply, hating how weak and alien his voice ended up sounding.

“Combeferre had told me you wouldn’t come”, Grantaire said accusingly, sounded betrayed.

Oh.

So that had been Combeferre’s plan. Reverse psychology. How great.

“I didn’t ask him to do that”, Enjolras said simply, and he found that once that he had locked eyes with Grantaire, he could no longer look away.

“Yeah, right”, Grantaire scoffed, rolling his eyes with disdain. “Am I supposed to believe that?”

“No”, Enjolras said grievously, lowering his head and breathing deeply for a moment before looking up at Grantaire again. “You have no reason to believe me, after all of this”.

“I know”, Grantaire said coldly, but Enjolras’ could see his Adam’s apple bob as the cynic swallowed dry. All of a sudden, Grantaire’s façade cracked slightly and he looked sadder than colder.

“I was hoping to speak to you”, Enjolras said, almost shyly, hating how vulnerable he felt – and sounded. “After the dance. I understand you have no reason to speak to me, after last night, but I would very much like to –“

“After the _dance_?”, Grantaire raised a nearly mocking eyebrow, looking at Enjolras as if he was a dumb child. A disdainful scoff was followed by a bitter smile on his lips, and he placed both hands on his hips idly. “Enjolras, I’m not dancing with you”, he said simply, a disbelieving chuckle on his lips. Enjolras sighed, lowering his head again. He had expected that. He knew that Grantaire wouldn’t just forgive him easily.

“Listen, Grantaire, just… listen to me, for once”, he said patiently, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. “We have been preparing for this contest the whole month, and I know how much it means to you. I don’t want you to lose the opportunity to dance and finally win the prize just because of our… disagreement”.

“I know”, Grantaire said, looking unimpressed. “Which is why I found another dancing partner”.

Enjolras stared up at Grantaire blankly, blinking several times as the information sunk in. His lips parted slightly in shock and he was so taken aback that he couldn’t muster any sort of response. Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“Wow”, he said, but his voice was tending to monotone, rather than amused. “You really think so much of yourself, don’t you?”, he mocked. Enjolras frowned, but still couldn’t say a word. “What, you thought that I would just quit this contest and go home because you’re here? Or, or, that you’d _… bully_ me into dancing with you so that you could make some sort of fucked up peace with yourself before I die and, what, feel less guilty?”, he chuckled again, and the sound – so harsh, so _venomous_ – made Enjolras flinch. “Nah, Enjolras. Sorry to break it to you, but I’m done being manipulated”, he said simply before turning on his heels and walking away. It took Enjolras’ brain a few moments to catch up with what Grantaire had said, and to follow him to the back of the room.

“Who are you dancing with?”, Enjolras asked, immediately kicking himself for how accusatory he sounded. He followed Grantaire in large steps, bumping into one person or two, but the cynic didn’t slow down.

“I’m afraid that’s none of your business”, Grantaire said over his shoulder.

“Well, I think that I at least deserve to know who you’re replacing me with”, Enjolras said, and there was something burning and fiery and consuming blossoming in his chest. _Anger. Jealousy. Betrayal. Frustration._

“Well, it’s too bad that not everyone gets to know what they _deserve_ to know”, Grantaire said mockingly, sarcastically, and Enjolras huffed out an incredulous breath before grabbing hold of Grantaire’s forearm and halting him. “Let me go”, Grantaire growled, trying to yank his arm away from Enjolras’ grip.

“No”, Enjolras said almost menacingly, leaning forwards so that his and Grantaire’s nose almost touched. He probably looked angrier than he actually felt. “This is unfair and you know it. Please, just let’s talk it out”, he basically begged through a hiss. Grantaire tried to yank his arm away again, failing.

“Talk _what_ out?”, he asked, serious. “I have nothing to tell you. I think you said enough yesterday”.

“I want you to understand”, Enjolras shook his head slightly, staring deep into Grantaire’s eyes. “I want you to understand that the only reason I didn’t tell you was because I was trying to protect you”.

“From myself”, Grantaire said disdainfully, an affirmation.

“Yes”, Enjolras nodded solemnly. His grip on Grantaire’s arm was so tight that it would probably leave a mark, but he couldn’t let it go. Not now that he finally had his attention. “You just proved that I had been right all along when you went and got yourself shitfaced yesterday. Can’t you see? The only reason I didn’t tell you before was because I love you so much, and I just wanted to keep you safe and happy! I was just trying to prevent exactly what happened yesterday!”

Grantaire scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head at Enjolras.

“I’m not one of your fucking causes, Enjolras”, he said, and the amount of emotion in his voice contrasted sharply with its previous coldness. “I don’t get to be saved. Maybe I just don’t need it. Or maybe I don’t want it. But what I definitely don’t want is you, being all _passionate_ about me just because you fucking idealized me, exactly like you do to every damned thing in your life”, he scorned.

“I… I didn’t idealize you”, Enjolras protested hesitantly, frowning.

“I’m a fucking mess, Enjolras”, Grantaire said, all hints of fake smiles gone from his face to give place to a grim expression. “I let you know that from day one. I’m an alcoholic, I’m bipolar, I should be on medication but I’m fucking not because I can’t let go of the booze, I’m nihilistic, I’m a cynic, and I’m not worth saving. It’s no use. You can’t save me. You shouldn’t have even tried”, he scoffed. “I’m not a _cause_ for you to dedicate yourself to. I’m not a fucking _thing_ that you can fix through… through the _power of love_ , or whatever it is you think you feel for me. I’m a fucking human being, and you can’t. fix. me”, he said, finally managing to free his arm from Enjolras’ grip with a final yank. Despite of this, he didn’t walk away. He stared at Enjolras, panting, expecting a response. Enjolras stared back, silent.

“I don’t want to fix you”, Enjolras finally said after what felt like an eternity, voice small in comparison to the background talk around them. “You’re not broken to be in need of fixing”.

Another long silence. They simply stared at each other.

“All I ever wanted to do was to love you”, Enjolras said after another small eternity, voice merely above a whisper. Grantaire’s eyes were glistening and his face scrunched up in pain for the fraction of a second. Unnoticeable. “Just every bit as much as you deserve to be loved”.

“And do you?”, he asked, voice constricted as if to mimic Enjolras’. A pause. “Do you love me?”, his voice sounded the precise mixture of hurt and hopeful. Enjolras nodded without hesitating.

“I do”, Enjolras said, voice breaking. The effort to hold back his tears was making his head ache. “God, believe me, I do. I have never loved anyone as much as I love you”.

“Then leave”, Grantaire closed his eyes, voice shaking and chest trembling as he breathed out the words. It was as if he couldn’t look at Enjolras as he said the words. “If everything you told me yesterday is true, if… if I’m really going to…”, he cut himself off to breathe harshly, lowering his head. “Just leave. Don’t do this to yourself”.

“Grantaire”, Enjolras said, outstretching a hand to touch his boyfriend. He flinched away from the touch.

“Leave”, he said simply, brokenly, a single tear running down his face. Grantaire quickly wiped it away, reopening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling, as if facing Enjolras was the hardest thing he could fathom doing. “If you really love me, then let me go”.

“I don’t want to let you go”, Enjolras whispered. “I want to give you my love”. He took a tentative step towards Grantaire, hesitating. Grantaire didn’t move, but his shoulders tensed up.

“Fuck you”, Grantaire said simply, voice shaking from a maniac laughter and a broken sob. He wiped away another tear that escaped his eye.

“Hey. Everything settled with you two?”, a man approached them, unaware of the fragile moment they were having. Enjolras turned his head to see that the man was one of the organizers, who were sorting the dancing pairs into an order of presentation. He had a clipboard on his hands, and gave them an expecting look.

“He’s not my pair”, Grantaire said with a broken and yet decided voice before walking away. Enjolras merely stared, sorrow weighting his feet down, as Grantaire disappeared in the middle of the crowd. The organizer gave him a confused look before going after Grantaire, and Enjolras merely stood, helpless, clueless, without knowing what to do next.

Maybe he should just respect Grantaire’s request. Maybe he should just let him go, as much as it pained him to do so.

Someone pushed him out of the line, since he was alone and without a pair, and Enjolras stumbled away, looking at the crowd with lost, unfocused eyes. He had no idea what to do. All he wanted was to melt away into a puddle of nothingness to the ground, until he was no longer forced to deal with problems or countdowns or sadness.

If… if his absence was what it took to make Grantaire happy, then he would leave. He was clearly just hurting Grantaire with his insistence on trying to make peace, and Enjolras would rather die before hurting Grantaire any further.

As he turned on his (still wobbly) knees to leave the back room, Enjolras caught a glimpse of Grantaire’s hair, and who it was standing beside him in the waiting line. Outside, a tango music began to play, indicating that the first pair was already presenting.

Grantaire was going to dance with Fred.

The same Fred who had called Grantaire ugly, and thought that Enjolras’ was “out of his league”. The same obnoxious Fred who had laughed at Grantaire, and who didn’t even want to dance with him in the first place. The Fred who was a douchebag that only contributed to keep Grantaire’s self-esteem down, who made him think he deserved to be insulted.

They were the last pair on the line, which meant they would be the last pair to present.

Which meant Enjolras still had time to change Grantaire’s mind.

He was aware that what he was about to do was incredibly selfish and, without doubt, a dick move, but Enjolras didn’t care. He wouldn’t allow Grantaire to submit himself to a man who despised him, and who would probably just mistreat him afterwards, just so that he could have a petty revenge against Enjolras. He marched his way towards them, barely managing to hide his anger, before grabbing Fred’s shoulder and pulling him away from Grantaire with a yank.

“What the fuck?!”, Fred explained, stumbling slightly before regaining his balance.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”, Grantaire snapped at the same time.

“Grantaire is my partner”, Enjolras snarled at Fred, jealousy, anger and self-loathing erupting in his chest. “Please, get away from him”.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I can’t believe this”, Grantaire rolled his eyes, placing himself in front of Fred defensively. Enjolras scoffed.

“And I can’t believe you”, Enjolras said, aware of how childish and petulant he sounded. “You were pretty fast at replacing me with this self-entitled ass”.

“Yo, watch your mouth, pretty boy”, Fred darted forwards, attempting to intimidate Enjolras, but Grantaire held him back with an arm. “You talk shit to my face and I’ll cut your pompous cock-licking tongue”.

“I’d like to see you try, you homophobic piece of crap”, it was Enjolras’ time to dart forwards, and Grantaire used his other arm to hold Enjolras back. “I can take down men twice your size and with brains grander than yours without breaking a sweat”.

“For fuck’s sake, you two, stop this shit right now”, Grantaire said, aware of the attention they were drawing. It was like all the eyes in the room were glued to them, and a pair of organizers were eyeing them warily.

“Fucking try me, you ass-sucking Johnny Utah prototype!”, Fred exclaimed, managing to break away from Grantaire’s arm holding him back and swinging his fist, hitting Enjolras in the jaw. The leader fell back, disoriented, and before Fred could attack him further, Grantaire pushed him back so hard that he almost fell to the floor, tripping.

Enjolras was still a little dizzy and the attack made the flashbacks of being beaten at the protest sparkle inside his mind, but he forced himself to get to his feet anyway. He allowed his longue to lick at his lower lip and was met with the coppery taste of blood.

“Are you fucking out of your mind?!”, Grantaire was shouting, pushing Fred back.

“Your bitch was talking shit to my face, I was supposed to take that quietly? No way, man”, Fred pushed Grantaire back, hard, making the cynic stumble.

“Gentlemen, if you do not calm down, you will be expelled from this contest”, one of the organizers approached them, raising their hands as if to calm a frightened animal.

“I’m nobody’s bitch, and even if I was, that would be my personal decision as a free, consenting adult!”, Enjolras shouted back at Fred, ignoring the organizer touching his shoulder as if to hold him back. “Quit using socially-degrading terms and comparisons to women to try diminishing me and go find yourself a real, consistent argument, you Trump-loving wanker!”

“Jesus fucking Christ”, Grantaire covered his mouth with both hands.

“Gentlemen, this is your last warning, if you do not stop this nonsense we will call security”, another organizer appeared behind Enjolras. He was holding himself straighter than Fred, who was still madly trying to get to him, being stopped only by Grantaire’s arm in front of him.

“Well, you ought to kick him out first, then, since he was the one who threw the first punch!”, Enjolras accused, only realizing how biased his words sounded after they left his mouth. Grantaire stared at him with a mixture of scorn and disbelief, but Fred finally stopped fidgeting and straightened his shirt.

“You know what, I’m out of here, man”, he announced, staring down at Grantaire with something akin to disgust. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I agreed to dance with an ugly faggot like you”, he said. Enjolras saw red, but did nothing as Fred begun to walk away.

“Don’t forget you enjoy sucking cock, too!”, Grantaire yelled before Fred could leave the room. The man merely pulled up his middle finger at the cynic without turning on his back, disappearing through the door. “Nice, there goes my pair”, Grantaire commented, annoyance evident in his voice. Enjolras, aware of the swelling on his lower lip and the ache on his jaw, took a step towards the cynic anyway.

“R…”, he started, but Grantaire scoffed, turning around to face him and placing both hands against his hips.

“I’m not fucking dancing with you”, he said before Enjolras could continue, looking more hurt than before. “I had made that clear before and my opinion stays the same, if not stronger”.

“Grantaire, please”, Enjolras tried reaching for him without success. “It was not my intention –“

“Yes, it was your fucking intention, don’t play the fucking saint now”, Grantaire snapped. “You gonna tell me that you pulled Fred’s shoulder because you wanted to pacifically convince him to exchange pairs? Fuck off”, he turned his back on Enjolras, walking away, and only then Enjolras realized how small the waiting line had grown.

“I didn’t mean to fight him”, Enjolras explained, following him angrily. “I just wanted to show you how much of an asshole he was, and I think I was damn right”.

“You were just being a manipulative, selfish piece of shit once again, but I suppose I should be used to that already”, Grantaire scorned, shaking his head and not looking at Enjolras. “And Fred might be a fucking asshole, but at least he is honest and speaks the truth right away, instead of hiding it for a fucking month like you”.

“His friendship is toxic!”, Enjolras protested, stepping in front of Grantaire as if to catch his full attention. “He’s constantly keeping you down, he’s constantly making fun of you, and he’s clearly homophobic and sexist, to say the least!”

“Oh, his friendship is toxic? _His_ friendship?”, Grantaire laughed humorlessly. “That’s just precious, coming from the man who spent years calling me a useless drunkard, an obnoxious nuisance, and a waste of talent”, he snarled, his face dangerously close to Enjolras’. “Spare me of your hypocrisy, Enjolras, it is the least you can do for me after all this shit you put me through”, he shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes once again. “I don’t even fucking know why I ever fell in love with you”.

These words were enough to make Enjolras’ breath catch in his throat, and he merely stood, frozen on the spot, staring up at Grantaire with wide, terrified eyes. Grantaire, on the other hand, looked surprisingly as taken aback as Enjolras, as if he couldn’t quite believe that those words had just left his mouth.

“I know why I fell in love with you”, Enjolras said, voice low and rough from all the shouting. The muffled sound of the tango music on the stage a room away from them was the only sound that could be heard during the tense pause between their words. “I fell in love with you because you are an incredible man. You are talented, and you are kind, and you are an inherently good person despite of all the shit that life has put you through. You are beautiful, on the inside and out, and I never regretted leaving my home and my family behind, I never regretted dedicating years of my life to my country and my cause, I never regretted any personal sacrifice I ever made to the benefit of others, but the only thing I regret”, he took a shaky breath. “The only thing I regret is that it took me all this time to realize how wonderful you are, and that I only did it when it was too late”.

There was a long pause in which the two of them only breathed, staring at each other.

“And I wish I had more time with you”, Enjolras continued, shaky voice merely above a whisper. “And I wish everything between us could have happened under different circumstances”, he lowered his head.  “I wish I had been able to do something to change this. But I couldn’t. I can’t”, he shook his head, hands tightening into fists. “The only thing I can do is tell you how sorry I am, for everything, and try to make you understand that the only reason I didn’t tell you before was because I care so deeply and unconditionally about you that I put your needs in front of mine. I didn’t tell you because you would have been miserable and anxious and depressed and you already had enough shit in your life to deal with that, on the top of everything. And not telling you was selfish and horrible and a lousy decision”, he threw his hair back with a shaky hand, in a way that suspiciously resembled Grantaire’s quirk. “But I don’t regret it. I don’t regret it because, despite of everything that went wrong, I still managed to make you smile and giggle and just _be happy_ for a while”, his voice broke. There was another small pause. “That was all I ever wanted to do. _Make you happy_. And yes, that involved _me_ being happy, too, but I didn’t hide things from you for personal gain. I didn’t… use you, like a depraved maniac, just so that I could spend my time with you and feel less guilty. Because god knows that every time I felt your heartbeat fluttering beneath my fingers, every time I couldn’t sleep because I kept having nightmares about your death, every time I had to look you in the eye and pretend everything would be fine, every single time, I still felt guilty, even guiltier than before. If I only cared about myself, I would have told you the truth right away and be done with it”, he took a shaky breath. “It would be a weight lifted from my shoulders. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to you. I love you too much”, a tear escaped his eye. “And I won’t judge you if you don’t forgive me, or if you’re angry at me, you’re entitled to it. But please”, Enjolras was on the verge of getting to his knees, but he didn’t want to make a scene, especially since the organizers had their eyes glued on them. “Please, don’t leave the contest. I know how hard you worked to be here, even before I came along, I know how much you want this. I’m sorry that I sent your partner away, but I know the choreography, I can do this with you, you know I can”.

Another long pause. Grantaire didn’t say anything. His eyes were scanning Enjolras’ face, moving millimeters as if to take every inch of him and analyze it.

“If you really don’t want to”, Enjolras swallowed dry. “I will go after Fred. He can’t have gone far. I will beg for his pardon and convince him to come back and dance with you”, he promised. “Just… please. Don’t give up just because of me”.

“Why, because that would make you fail your ‘let’s-save-Grantaire’s-poor-soul’ quest?”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow sarcastically, but his voice was constricted as if he was holding back tears.

“No”, Enjolras shook his head sadly. “Because that would make you unhappy”.

Grantaire scoffed, turning his head away.

“And you can’t have that”, he stated simply, voice heavy.

“No, I can’t”, Enjolras confirmed. Grantaire sighed. “The least I can do for you after you died for me is to make you happy”.

“And what if you can’t do that? Huh?”, Grantaire snapped, but he sounded tired. He turned his face towards Enjolras. “What if I simply wasn’t made to be happy?”

“I can try”, Enjolras said, once again trying to reach for him. “I can give my best”.

“I told you I’m not a cause, Enjolras”, Grantaire snorted. “I’m not _your_ cause”.

“And I don’t want you to be”, Enjolras bit his lower lip, and then hissed as his teeth dug into the cut. Blood trickled down his chin. “But I don’t want to be the reason of your unhappiness, either”.

“You’ve been the reason of my unhappiness from the very first day I laid my eyes on you”, Grantaire said bitterly, voice rough from unshed tears. Enjolras would have been able to hear the sound of his own heart breaking to pieces, was it not from the music on the background.

“I’m sorry”, Enjolras said, because what else could he say? He was aware of the years that Grantaire spent unrequitedly pining for him, and there was nothing he could do about what was in the past, as fate kept insisting to remind him.

“Yeah, you said that already”, Grantaire responded, eyes red. He wasn’t crying.

“But I truly am”, Enjolras shook his head. “For everything, I am truly sorry. If I could go back in time and take that bullet in your place, I would. I would without thinking twice”.

Another tense silence appeared and was cut off by the muffled sound of applause. Someone tapped Enjolras’ shoulder.

“You’re up next”, the organizer behind him announced, handing Enjolras a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his chin away. “Boy, did you hear me? You and your partner are up next”, he added, when Enjolras didn’t make a move. His eyes were glued to Grantaire’s, almost unblinking.

“If you don’t want to dance with me, don’t dance with me”, Enjolras said, as honestly as he could. “Just say the word and I’ll be gone. I will finally respect your boundaries, something that I’ve been failing to do for the past day and that I am also sorry for. But if you will have me”, he outstretched his hand to touch Grantaire’s. The cynic didn’t flinch away from the touch this time. “I would like to keep my promise to you. Don’t throw away your shot just because of me”.

“Are you two ready?”, the organizer asked, impatient. “You have to go in, now”.

“I will go away, if that’s what you want. Just say the word, and I will”, Enjolras said, letting go of Grantaire’s hand.

The cynic remained silent for several seconds, and Enjolras could hear the voice of the announcer saying their names on the stage. He never broke eye contact with Grantaire.

“Oi, are you listening to me?”, the organizer asked, frantic.

“This won’t change anything”, Grantaire said shortly, lips forming a thin line. “I’ll still be angry with you after we’re done”.

“I know”, Enjolras nodded sadly, but he took a tentative step towards Grantaire. “But do you permit it?”

Grantaire smiled sadly, almost regretfully, and took his hand.

The stage – and the whole contest, actually – was very simple, verging on makeshift, but still, the lights and the cheering of the crowd blinded Enjolras and overwhelmed his senses. He could feel the bitter taste of panic rising right below his stomach, a cold sensation followed by a numbness that only anxiety could provide overtaking him. But he knew he couldn’t let Grantaire down. Not again. He had tried very hard to convince the man to dance with him, and he couldn’t allow his panic to ruin everything now. He owed Grantaire that much.

Grantaire stayed at the back of the stage, as their choreography dictated, and Enjolras walked to the front, facing the several guests sitting at the audience. Before the music started, he found his friends, sitting at the second row, and he noticed both Combeferre’s and Joly’s frown at the sight of blood on his lower lip. Before he could offer any sort of reassuring that he was fine, the music begun playing.

At first, it was just the soft fingering of strings and piano keys, emitting a light tune that contrasted with the immediate intensity of the songs used by the previous dancers. Their song – an instrumental version of El Tango de Roxanne – begun more softly, almost in a preparation of sorts. It was the kind overture that felt like the calm before a storm, and that allowed Grantaire to slowly walk towards Enjolras, who had his back turned to him. By the time that the fingering and the piano subdued to give place to the bass, Grantaire had his chest glued to Enjolras’ back, barely touching him, but close enough that Enjolras could feel the cynic’s warmth seeping through his shirt.

And then, in perfect synchrony with the violin’s entrance, as they had rehearsed a thousand times, Enjolras turned around on his heels and held his hand up forming a 90 degree angle between his arm and forearm, slapping his palm against Grantaire’s, whose arm was bended in the same way. At the same time their hands collided, both men set their right foot on the wooden floor with strength, the echoing sound of their trample adding to the music’s beat perfectly. It felt good, to move as intensely and aggressively like that. Somehow, it helped Enjolras to let go of all the anger and frustration he was still feeling inside his chest.

_First, there is desire._

With their palms still glued to each other’s, they walked circularly, shoes dragging on the floor and eye contact never breaking. The intensity of their gaze was something they had never bothered working on the trainings, but after Enjolras revealed the truth and they fought, it seemed to be a factor that matched the music they were dancing to perfectly. Grantaire’s eyes looked stormier than ever, unshed tears still making it glisten and brow furrowed in a way that Enjolras couldn’t tell if was anger or concentration. Enjolras’ eyes, on the other hand, were intense and focused, but never lacking the resentment and frustration he was feeling. The dried blood on his split lower lip contrasted with the goldenness of his curls, which were lose and floating behind his back just in the way he knew Grantaire loved.

_Then, passion._

Their palms finally disconnected so that Grantaire could hold Enjolras’ hand up and send him twirling once. After the twirl, Enjolras’ chest collided with Grantaire’s, who held him by the waist and buried his nose against Enjolras’ neck. He didn’t have to, but he breathed in Enjolras’ scent anyway. Grantaire’s other hand grabbed one of Enjolras’ thighs and squeezed, propping the leg upwards until Enjolras’ knee was resting beside Grantaire’s waist. With one hand on the small of Enjolras’ back and the other holding the crook of his bent knee, Grantaire dragged Enjolras across the stage to form a semi-circle, while the blond leader kept his other leg outstretched back. The sound of Enjolras’ outstretched foot dragging across the wooden floor couldn’t be heard over the intense sound of the tango.

_Then, suspicion._

Enjolras set both his feet on the wooden floor of the stage, and Grantaire both of the leader’s wrists, turning him around. Enjolras allowed himself to be guided by Grantaire, who bent his left knee back as Enjolras bent his right knee forwards, arms still outstretched slightly upwards. Then, in a swift move, Enjolras spun around, and so did Grantaire, and their hands were no longer touching. Their outstretched hands remained lifted in the air, silently reaching and longing for each other but never touching.

_Jealousy, anger, betrayal._

They walked around each other on the stage, with a two arms distance between their bodies, as if they were lovers forced to part from each other against their will. Grantaire’s gaze upon Enjolras was stronger than it had ever been before, and it took all of Enjolras’ self-control not to shudder and keep concentrated, hand still outstretched longingly for the cynic. Then, as the choreography dictated, they placed their hands on their own hips and set their foot down with force again, still circling each other, until Grantaire outstretched his hand towards Enjolras again and grabbed hold of him once more. Enjolras spun twice on his heels until Grantaire’s hand on his waist halted him to a stop.

Grantaire’s chest was glued to Enjolras’ back again, but this time the cynic had one hand on Enjolras’ waist while the other held Enjolras’ arm to the side. They moved sideways, slowly in comparison to their previous moves, and Enjolras always stepping to the side with the opposite leg that Grantaire had used. The cynic’s nose was once again buried on the crook of Enjolras’ neck, but this time, from the behind.

Grantaire held his hand up and once again Enjolras allowed himself to be twirled, turning on his heels so that he was facing Grantaire once more. Grantaire held both of Enjolras’ hands as the leader slightly crouched down, one of his knees bent and his other leg completely outstretched to the side. Grantaire pushed Enjolras slightly away from himself and leant back, still holding Enjolras’ hands and spinning Enjolras’ crouched form around.

As soon as their spinning stopped and Enjolras returned to an upright position, Grantaire held him from behind, pushing Enjolras’ body up but not letting go of him. One of his hands held Enjolras waist and the other supported Enjolras’ arm as the leader jumped in the air, throwing one of his legs up in an almost decent spacatta. Enjolras remembered how hard it had been training that part of the choreography, how much stretching he had to do until he was finally able to split his legs correctly. Grantaire carefully lowered him back to the floor and turned him around so that they faced each other again, and as Enjolras bent one of his knees down to his left, Grantaire did the exact same but to his right. They stood up straight once more, walking into opposite directions. Their eyes never left each other’s.

Enjolras vaguely acknowledged how much tension was looming in the air between himself and Grantaire. They were still exchanging hurt looks; resentment and frustration very clear as they stared intensely at each other. They both set their foot against the floor once again. The next part of the choreography would require a closer and more romantic contact than they had ever shared ever since the fight. Enjolras took a deep preparatory breath.

Grantaire closed the distance between them and grabbed hold of Enjolras’ forearm, abruptly pulling him towards himself with a single yank. Enjolras, with this helpful impulse, jumped in the air and threw one of his legs up so that the crook of his knee was resting on Grantaire’s shoulder, and Grantaire held him in place with one hand on his back and the other on his shin. Their faces were glued to each other’s now, and Enjolras slowly cupped Grantaire’s cheek with his spare hand. In the rush of the choreography, he faintly wondered how erotic that position was, having one of his legs spread up and the other bent around Grantaire’s waist, keeping his hip inevitably pressed against Enjolras’ crotch. Their faces were so close that Enjolras could feel Grantaire’s breath tingle his skin. Their lips touched softly, as the choreography required, and it only broke Enjolras’ heart all over again. During their practices, the kiss was always Enjolras’ favorite part, but right now it felt forced and unnatural. With Grantaire’s hands still sustaining his weight and holding him up, Enjolras arched his spine and threw himself back, exposing his neck and his lower body to the crowd who was watching and clapping excitedly at their every move. Grantaire hungrily splayed sloppy kisses all over Enjolras’ neck and chest while still holding him, and that gesture, which had aroused Enjolras so many times during their practices, only sent a guilty shudder across his arched spine. The tension between them was so strong that it became nearly tangible, and with a sudden click, Enjolras could relate the movements they had rehearsed over the month with their current situation. They kept dancing around each other, setting their foot, and the whole point of the choreography was to have Enjolras and Grantaire reach for each other helplessly, only to have a few moments of contact and passion before being parted again.

_When love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust._

Enjolras removed his leg from the top of Grantaire’s shoulder and the cynic urged him back into a standing position, outstretching their arms to the side once more. Their legs intertwined with each other’s as they moved to the side, chest glued to chest. Enjolras bent his knees once more, one leg sliding back, and Grantaire leant over him almost protectively.

_Without trust, there is no love._

Now, as the end of the music approached and the chords became tenser and stronger, Enjolras noticed how tight Grantaire’s grasps on his body had become, almost as if he was trying to hold on to Enjolras for as long as he could before they ran out of time. His calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh of Enjolras’ hip, forearm and thighs as they continuously danced would certainly leave bruises, but Enjolras couldn’t care less. He mimicked Grantaire, burring his fingers deep into his skin and curls, trying to transmit, without using words, how longingly he yearned for the cynic. They spun, and held each other, and mostly, Enjolras allowed himself to be held and guided by Grantaire’s strong and precise movements. Then Grantaire abruptly spun Enjolras away from himself, and with a pirouette, Enjolras fell to his knees in perfect synchrony with the music’s last note. The song ended with Enjolras kneeling at Grantaire’s feet, head lowered to face the wooden floor, arms up as his hands held Grantaire’s hips. He looked like he was pleading, begging, somewhat resembling a classic painting of a helpless, desperate maiden. Enjolras could only describe this as dramatic irony, since he didn’t even consider that he would actually come to plead for Grantaire’s forgiveness when they started rehearsing the choreography.

The audience erupted with a wave of applause, and Enjolras, who was breathing heavily and probably flushed, dared to shift his head ever so slightly to look at them. His friends were all standing up, cheering and clapping like mad men, and both Bahorel and Bossuet were whistling loudly. Enjolras, who was still frozen in his kneeling position, was surprised when Grantaire took the leader’s hands away from his hips. He looked up, to find Grantaire staring down at him with the same hurt expression from before.

“Grantaire”, Enjolras said, but his voice could barely be heard over the loud sound of cheering. Grantaire scoffed silently and shook his head before turning on his heels. Enjolras stumbled with the sudden absence of Grantaire’s body, which had been supporting him, but managed to get to his feet. “Grantaire!”, he basically shouted after the cynic, who kept walking until he disappeared through the door to the backstage. The host of the contest had appeared on the stage beside Enjolras and was telling him something, but Enjolras’ brain couldn’t make out whatever words the man was saying. His eyes were still glued to the door in which Grantaire had vanished, as if hoping that he would return any moment.

The host started to gently push Enjolras away from the stage, and a woman appeared to lead him towards the backstage. Enjolras silently allowed himself to be guided by the woman, who offered him a chair to sit down and a glass of cold water.

“Are you all right, hun?”, she asked, a worried frown between her eyebrows. Enjolras blinked at her with a blank expression for several seconds before nodding briefly, averting her gaze. “Are you sure?”, she raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t suppose you saw which way my pair went”, Enjolras said, and was honestly surprised at how shaky his voice sounded. The woman clicked her tongue apologetically.

“I’m sorry, but I think he left”, she squeezed Enjolras’ shoulder. “Last I saw him he was heading for the front door. But don’t worry, dear, even without him here, you can still fetch the prize, if you win”, she smiled politely.

“I don’t care about the prize”, Enjolras ended up saying, and he hissed when he attempted to drink the water, forgetting about the split on his lip.

“Oh, but you should”, the woman said with something akin to excitement in her voice. “You two were simply _amazing_. This was one of the best choreographies I’ve seen in all my years of work here. And the intensity! That leg split! I wouldn’t be surprised if you won”.

“Thank you”, Enjolras said, but his voice was monotone and apathetic. The sound of rushed steps came from somewhere beside him and he immediately looked up, clearly hoping that it would be Grantaire. His face fell when he was met with Combeferre instead.

“How are you?”, Combeferre immediately asked, kneeling in front of his friend with a worried frown as he took in Enjolras’ face.

“He left”, Enjolras said simply, shrugging and swallowing dry. He wished he wasn’t so aware of the sad expression in his face.

“Did he do this to you?”, Combeferre signaled at Enjolras’ lower lip with a disapproving nod. Enjolras shook his head.

“No. It was Fred. Grantaire was going to dance with him instead, so I… intervened”.

“Oh, Enjolras”, Combeferre breathed out sadly, pulling his friend for a hug. Enjolras was too exhausted – both physically and emotionally – to lift his arms and return Combeferre’s hug, so he just allowed himself to be held by his best friend. “I’m sorry, my friend, I truly am”.

“It’s over”, Enjolras said. “I tried talking to him before the presentation, but he said… he said he’d still be angry with me after we were done. I don’t think he ever wants to see me again”.

“I’ll talk to him”, Combeferre promised, breaking the hug and staring deeply into Enjolras’ eyes. “I’ll make him see some sense”.

“Don’t”, Enjolras exhaled, tired. “I don’t want you to. I… I spoke to him already. If he wishes to forgive me, I want him to do so because he wants to, and not because somebody convinced him to. Leave it be, Ferre”.

“Enjolras…”, Combeferre clicked his tongue sadly.

“It’s ok”, Enjolras said, even though it was clear from his tone that it was not ok.

“I’m really sorry”, Combeferre sighed. Enjolras nodded, silently fidgeting with the glass in his hands and not meeting his friend’s eyes. The room fell silent, making it possible for them to hear to the host of the contest speaking on the stage. He was announcing the winners. Enjolras tensed up.

“Our judges have already made their votes, and I hold the result here in my hands, ladies and gentlemen!”, the host was announcing with excitement. “The winner of tonight’s tango contest is…”, a dramatic pause, in which Enjolras subconsciously held him breath, eyes staring unfocused at the floor. “Enjolras and Grantaire, with El Tango de Roxanne!”, the host announced, and the muffled sound of the audience’s cheers invaded Enjolras’ ears. He didn’t breathe out.

“Enjolras”, Combeferre was calling him, but his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. The woman who had handed him the glass of water removed it from his hands and propped him into a standing position by his elbow. Everything after that happened in a forgotten blur, until Enjolras found himself standing in the middle of the stage, the whole audience staring at him with expectation. He looked around, not remembering how he had gotten there, and blinked blankly at the trophy that was being handed to him by the host. With shaking hands and a confused expression, Enjolras took the prize, and looked up at the host to find the man staring at him with confused expectation. Enjolras faintly recalled hearing someone asking him a question a few moments before. Had it been the host?

“What?”, Enjolras asked quietly, disoriented, and a few scattered laughs erupted from the crowd. Turning his eyes to them, he found his friends looking up at him with worry. The host patted his shoulder playfully and laughed as well.

“It seems that winning the prize has left our contester a bit dazed!”, he joked, earning more laughs from the audience. Enjolras frowned at the host. “I asked, young man, where might your pair be?”

Enjolras tensed up, opening and closing his mouth in confusion, which ended up making him look like a fish. He didn’t know what to say, and he was so tired and miserable that he just wanted to go back home and sleep.

“He left”, Enjolras said simply, earning a few surprised gasps from the crowd. The host frowned.

“Left? Why is that?”, he asked.

“Because I’m an idiot”, Enjolras sighed simply, clutching the prize closer to his chest. His eyes ran through the curious faces at the audience. “This prize was meant for him. He loves to dance, and he’s been training a lot for this contest. I’m just the damn idiot who convinced him to let me come along”, Enjolras said, disgusted at his own self-deprecated tone.

“Well”, the host smiled awkwardly, clearly taken aback by Enjolras’ declaration. “I’m sure things will be fine between you two. What inspired you to choose this song?”

Enjolras was about to give a hollow answer when a familiar mass of dark curls called his attention by the front door of the saloon.

Grantaire was still there. Grantaire hadn’t left yet. And he was staring up at Enjolras with expressive grey eyes that seemed to be reading him, trying to make sense of him.

A long silence followed. They had never officially discussed the reason why Grantaire had chosen that song, but after watching that movie with the cynic, Enjolras thought he understood, if only a little bit. The audience continued to stare up at Enjolras’ frozen form silently, waiting for him to answer, but Enjolras’ eyes and thoughts were glued to Grantaire and Grantaire only.

“Enjolras?”, the host urged, a frown appearing in his face at the leader’s prolonged silence.

“He chose this song”, Enjolras said, voice hoarse, which forced him to clear his throat before continuing. His eyes never left Grantaire, as if he was the only person in the room. “Because it’s about the destructive side of love. He likes talking about love, you know, even though he pretends he doesn’t. But the last thing he is, is a cliché. It’s a love song, but it talks about how love can hurt and destroy and change us for the worse”, a small pause. Grantaire’s gaze upon him was weighting. “It makes us jealous. And it… makes us lie. It makes us do things that we would have never considering doing before”, Enjolras’ voice grew shaky. “Like losing nights of sleep over worry for the person we love. Or getting really drunk just to get a chance to dance with the person we love. Or… or decking a man to the ground because they were hurting the person we love”, Enjolras swallowed dry. “Or taking a bullet”, another pause, “for the person we love. You see, love is amazing, and beautiful, and great, but it can… hurt… so much”, his voice caught on his throat. “And I say this from experience. I love you”, he broke away from his speech, addressing Grantaire directly. Some people in the audience turned their heads to see who Enjolras was talking to. “I really do. And I’m sorry for all the times I’ve hurt you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I know that”.

For a moment, Grantaire looked like he was about to say something, lips parting in preparation and shoulders tensing up. Enjolras stared at him with hopeful expectation, holding his breath without even realizing it, eyes attentively searching Grantaire’s face for any sort of sign that he would forgive him.

But then Grantaire lowered his head, spun on his heels and pushed the door behind him open, leaving without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i know the tango scene sucks and i don't know shit about dancing ok, i tried
> 
> [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tadYB7Yp9_0) is the song that they danced to, and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rn0xXo1gwGY) is the original scene from Moulin Rouge


	14. Chapter 14

Everything else was sharply intense from then on.

The dancing, colorful lights illuminating the stage, along with the spotlight that was focused solely on him, seemed too bright and blinding all of a sudden. Despite of that, Enjolras didn’t squint his unfocused eyes, merely allowing the stabbing pain to slowly seep into his skull. The host begun speaking to him again, but his words were so loud that Enjolras couldn’t make sense of what he was being told. A high pitch appeared on the back of his ears and he swallowed dry, too stunned to do anything else. A hand wrapped around his wrist and gently nudged him into walking, but that simple movement felt like a yank and the contact between the skins felt like sandpaper. His trembling, faltering legs managed to gain some movement of their own, and before Enjolras could think about it, the lights dimmed and there was a hard surface beneath him. Someone had dragged him back to the backroom. He looked up and a blurry Combeferre made its way into his vision.

“Are you with me?”, Combeferre asked, concern evident in his eyes. Enjolras blinked helplessly.

“Yes”, he said, voice monotone and emotionless. Combeferre’s frown deepened.

“Are you sure?”, he inquired. “You look like you’re about to pass out”.

Enjolras stared at his friend for several awkward seconds before finally speaking up.

“I want to go home”, he said, in the same tone. Combeferre bit his lower lip, slightly straightening himself up, before nodding.

“Right. I can take you to my place”, he said, already fishing his car keys out of his pockets.

“No”, Enjolras breathed out, not bothering to meet Combeferre’s eyes. “My place”.

Silence. Enjolras didn’t look up, staring at his friend’s knees instead.

“Enjolras”, he said, voice only slightly reprehending in a paternal tone that only Combeferre could muster. “This isn’t a good idea. You’re in no condition of staying alone tonight”.

“My place”, it was the only phrase Enjolras could be bothered to say. Combeferre sighed in resignation, and as he opened his mouth to speak, the door to the back room opened abruptly, allowing an angry looking Joly to storm in, Bossuet and Jehan close on his heels. The young doctor’s anger seemed to dissipate completely from his frame as soon as he spotted Enjolras, but Jehan only looked more horrified than ever, as if his worst worries had come true.

“Jesus”, Joly whispered worriedly as he approached Enjolras and kneeled beside him. Some of the organizers who had been hovering by stepped back to give them space. “What the hell happened?”

Enjolras didn’t have the energy to turn his head and look at Joly, so he continued to blankly stare at Combeferre’s knees. There were no words he could say on that moment. He just wanted to be left alone.

“Combeferre?”, Joly looked up at the guide with a worried frown when Enjolras gave no signs that he had heard him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Combeferre’s eyes darted between Enjolras and Joly several times, as he tried to figure out what to say.

“He and Grantaire had a fight”, Combeferre settled for explaining, nervous eyes never leaving Enjolras’ unresponsive frame.

“We could tell that much”, Bossuet intervened, giving Enjolras one tentative, concerned look. “But what could the two of them have possibly fought about to make Grantaire lose it like this? They always sulk after a fight, yes, but this… this is not…”, he trailed off, as if afraid of finishing the sentence.

Enjolras continued to stare at nothing and Combeferre sighed heavily.

“This is not my place to say”, Combeferre stated, rubbing at his face with both hands. “You should ask Grantaire. Or Enjolras, when he’s feeling better”.

“And when will that be?”, Bossuet frowned. Joly placed a hesitant hand against Enjolras’ cheek as if to check his temperature, and two fingers against his neck to check his pulse. Enjolras flinched heavily at the uninvited touch, and Joly immediately retrieved his hand. “He looks like death itself”, Bossuet continued. “No offense”.

“I don’t know”, Combeferre shrugged. Joly gently attempted to push away the trophy that was clutched tightly between Enjolras’ hands, and he managed to take it from the leader without any sort of resistance. Enjolras hadn’t even realized he had been holding the trophy until it was taken away from him.

“This isn’t looking good”, Joly commented, standing up from his kneeling position and handing the trophy to Combeferre, eyes never leaving Enjolras as if he was afraid the leader would spontaneously combust if he ever got out of his sight. “We should take him to my place and get him checked out. He looks like he’s in shock”.

“No”, Enjolras mumbled, voice flat of any emotion, the first word he said ever since the trio arrived at the back room. “My place”.

“Enj, R isn’t going to be there with us, you don’t have to worry”, Joly explained patiently, immediately feeling guilty for the way Enjolras flinched again upon hearing the cynic’s name. “Just let me take proper care of you”, Joly added, almost pleading.

“I don’t need proper care”, Enjolras said, eyes still unfocused. He probably sounded harsher than he intended, but if he was being honest, he couldn’t exactly bring himself to care. “I just want to go home and sleep”.

“Are you sure?”, Combeferre raised a worried eyebrow. Enjolras sighed.

“Did you tell him?”, Jehan asked abruptly. Everyone turned to look at him, silence taking over the room. The only one who didn’t move an inch was Enjolras. Those had been the first words the poet had said ever since they found the leader in that shocked state. Joly frowned, pointing Jehan with a confused, inquisitive look.

“Tell who what?”, he asked. But Jehan didn’t bother looking at Joly or answering his question.

“Did you?”, the poet repeated ruthlessly, in a snappier tone, as if Joly had never said a word. Combeferre took a defensive step forwards.

“Not here”, he warned Jehan, glaring at him for the harshness he was treating Enjolras with. Even in his anger, Jehan should know better than to push Enjolras when the leader was so blatantly disturbed.

“What’s going on?”, Bossuet asked, eyes darting between Combeferre’s and Jehan’s face. “What are you two talking about?”

“Jehan”, Combeferre basically growled, a final warning in his tone. “Not. Here”.

At the same time, Courfeyrac burst through the open door of the back room, looking around for a few seconds before spotting the group and marching directly to Enjolras’ inert form on the chair. He kneeled in front of his friend and, without saying anything, pulled him into a tight hug that Enjolras didn’t – or better, couldn’t – return. This time, the leader didn’t flinch. It was not as if he could, anyway, from the strength Courfeyrac was hugging him with.

“Are you talking about Grantaire? What did Enjolras tell him?”, Bossuet turned to Jehan. The poet blushed slightly, and averted the bald man’s gaze.

“This isn’t the time”, Combeferre exhaled violently, before Jehan could say anything, and Courfeyrac broke the hug with Enjolras to look up at all of them from his squatted position on the floor. “We need to get Enjolras out of here”.

“I need to know what’s wrong with him in order to decide whether or not he should be left alone!”, Joly said just a little bit too frantically.

“This is my fault”, Combeferre exhaled sharply once again, rubbing one hand against his face in resignation. “They fought yesterday and I pushed Enjolras into coming to this contest because I thought that he and Grantaire would be able to sort things out. I shouldn’t”, he admitted, more to himself than to the group around him.

“I did”, Enjolras muttered. Combeferre frowned – he hadn’t expected Enjolras to so blatantly agree with his regretful confession. All eyes turned to the leader, but when he finally, finally moved his head, it was Jehan who he looked at. As it turns out, it hadn’t been Combeferre he was addressing. “I told him everything”, Enjolras continued, swallowing dry as if to muster courage. “And now he hates me. With reason”.

The sentiment behind Enjolras’ words sharply contrasted with the lack of emotion in his voice. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy, but they were no longer wet, as if he had no tears left to cry. His voice was monotone to the point he sounded like a robot.

Like marble.

“Today?”, Jehan asked, incredulous, voice trembling as if he was on the verge of tears. Enjolras would have noticed, had he been paying attention, the way the poet shook his head, only ever so slightly, as if he was refusing to believe what he was hearing.

“Yesterday”, Enjolras corrected. His eyes dropped back to the floor. Jehan’s face scrunched up as he tried his best not to cry.

“And you told him the whole truth?”, he asked shakily, voice constricted.

“Yes. He deserved to know. I couldn’t keep lying to him. Not today”, he supplied. He no longer had the energy to lie or hide important truths, as much tiring and hurtful telling the truth was. The least he could do was be honest, if not with himself, then at least with his friends.

Jehan stared at Enjolras for a long time, sad eyes studying the leader’s blank face as if looking for any hint of regret. The other Amis merely stared at the silent exchange, Joly and Bossuet confusedly sharing looks with each other, trying to figure out what was happening, while Combeferre and Courfeyrac had worried frowns on their brows.

“And you love him?”, Jehan added after what it felt like an eternity of staring, voice broken and just above a whisper. The only sounds that could be heard around them were the commotion of the leaving public outside, and the remaining staff trying to sort things out the best they could without looking like they were prying in their conversation. Enjolras swallowed dry and nodded briefly.

“I do”, he said, not looking at Jehan. He allowed his eyelids to slip shut and took in a deep, shaky breath. Then, and only then, his marble façade trembled and emotion burst through, so violently that his features went from cold and emotionless to a scrunched up face that could only be described as unhappy. He couldn’t handle it. He had already dealt with Jehan’s rejection and disgust once before, he was in no condition of doing it again. Not right now, when Grantaire had just walked away on him. Not when he was about to lose forever the person he cared about the most. This was all too much. He thought he could hear the sound of rushed footsteps fading away in the distance.

Once he reopened his eyes, Jehan was gone.

“We’re gonna take you home”, Courfeyrac reassured him softly, running gentle fingers behind his ear, and Enjolras could hear Joly complaining about something, but his voice was subdued into background noise. Enjolras didn’t want to have a panic attack right now, especially not in front of his friends, and _especially_ after everything that had just happened. Plus, panicking sounded like a luxury that he had to right to. _Grantaire_ was the one about to die in a few hours and he was probably drunk and alone in a gutter somewhere, suffering because of Enjolras’ lies and hidden truths. _Grantaire_ should be the one panicking, not Enjolras. The only thing Enjolras deserved to feel was guilt.

Gentle hands aided him into an upright position and Enjolras allowed himself to be guided out of the back room, and then the saloon. He had no energy to fight whoever it was guiding him, and he had no desire to stay at that wretched place. He could hear the sound of traffic and the remains of a discussion behind him, but all that he focused on was walking and walking and walking, not bothering to look at where he was going or who it was guiding him. All of a sudden, there was another pair of hands aiding him, but Enjolras’ vision was too unfocused for him to make out who it was. He assumed it was Courfeyrac, from the way that the hands held him gently, almost unnoticeably, while Combeferre’s grasp would have been more assertive and protective.

After a while, the sounds of cars rushing by and people talking grew more and more distant until it disappeared altogether. There were stairs in front of him, and even though his knees were trembling, he climbed them, the hands wrapped around him finding his elbows as if to sustain his balance. It took him longer than it would usually have, and he felt lightheaded, as if he was about to lose consciousness in any minute, but still, he kept going. He was almost home, now. There was the sound of keys, short resonating barks around him and the sound of a door closing. His body fell against the couch and it was as if he had finally opened his eyes after a long time of sleeping, even though he had never closed them on the way home.

Brownie barked excitedly around him, trying to jump and climb the couch beside Enjolras. God. He was almost big enough to reach the couch, so unlike that scrawny, terrified puppy that he had taken in with only a bit of reluctance and a lot of surprise. The sudden realization of how much his puppy had grown over the course of the past month dawned upon him. _How much had changed_. A chocked sob finally tore itself from his throat, making him squeeze his eyes shut and pull his knees up to his chest, curling up in a fetal position. Brownie whined in confusion as to why his owner was miserable, and a heavy body sat on the couch beside him, settling itself on the top of Enjolras’ curled up form and giving him a sideways hug. A warm hand rubbed his arm, but the friction drove Enjolras mad for some reason and the touch sent a wave of repulsion up his throat. The last thing he wanted was to be touched, or better, to be touched by the wrong person. He flinched and pulled away from the hug, getting immediately to his feet to rush to his bedroom and slam the door shut. His breathing was erratic and his heart felt like it was trying to jump out of his chest.

He couldn’t lose it right now. He had to focus. He had to control himself. He had made it so far. He could do it. He shouldn’t panic. He couldn’t panic. He could do it. He had to do it.

“Enjolras, please, can I come in?”, a muffled voice – Courfeyrac’s – asked, knocking on the door twice. Enjolras tried to answer, but his throat was constricted and the mere effort of speaking was too much for him. He whimpered, realizing that he was panicking because he had been panicking, and allowed himself to fall on his bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to control his breathing. He needed to do something, anything, to calm down. What had Grantaire done that one time, when Enjolras confessed his love and ended up freaking out?

He had… sung? Yes, Enjolras could remember it now. Grantaire had sung to him, and the sound of his voice had lulled Enjolras into a less desperate state. Being less desperate sounded like a good plan, for the time being. Panting, Enjolras reached for his nightstand – that piece of furniture that had grown to be so hated and feared by him over the past month – and fumbled with everything on the top of it until he found his phone. The knocking on the door and the loud pleas Courfeyrac was making didn’t come unnoticed as his trembling fingers grabbed hold of his headphones and he put them on, opening his YouTube app on Grantaire’s channel and clicking on the first cover he found. Coincidentally, it was one of the same songs the cynic had sung to him to calm him down back in that dusty restaurant’s back room.

“Enjolras, if you keep ignoring us, I’ll be forced to come in”, Combeferre announced from behind the door, but Enjolras didn’t hear him. The music Grantaire was singing was too loud on his ears, drowning out all the other sounds, and the cynic’s voice was sending a wave of relief and calmness through his entire system. His hands were still shaking and his heart was still fluttering inside his chest, breaths coming out heavy and noisy, but at least he no longer had that horrible fight or flight instinct overcoming all his senses. Grantaire’s voice was so rough and silky in a pleasant way. Enjolras wanted to keep listening to it forever, but that would be impossible because Grantaire would be dead in a few hours.

The door to his bedroom opened slightly, almost shyly, and Enjolras immediately covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow. Combeferre entered the room slowly, as if approaching the cage of a wild animal, but all Enjolras did when his friend sat at the edge of the bed was to curl on his side, rather than snapping at him. Combeferre sighed, and gently removed one of the earphones blasting on Enjolras’ ear so that his friend could hear him.

“Enjolras”, Combeferre called, tone shifting to paternal once again. Enjolras didn’t bother looking at him or responding. A long time passed before Combeferre attempted to call his attention again. “Enjolras. Look at me”.

“Please”, Enjolras ended up whispering, hating how broken his voice sounded. “Just leave me alone. I want to be alone”.

“No, you don’t”, Combeferre replied sadly. “I know you don’t”.

“Well, the company I desire is unwilling to speak to me at the moment, or, in fact, ever again, so if you could please, just _leave me be_ ”, Enjolras ended up snapping without meaning to, only slightly tilting his head towards Combeferre’s general direction behind him before burying his face against his pillows once again. Guilt immediately took over him as soon as his face was hidden, and his nose scrunched up in self-loathing. Combeferre was only trying to help. He didn’t deserve this harsh treatment Enjolras was giving him. He was hurting another person he loved, and for no reason. How great.

The guide sighed, rubbing his face with one hand as if to calm himself down.

“I don’t want to leave you alone in this state”, he explained as calmly as he could, lowering his head. “If you won’t speak to me, please, at least let Courfeyrac try to help. He’s at the living room, worried sick about you”.

“Don’t waste your time on me”, Enjolras whined, almost childishly. “Just let me lie here”.

“Enjolras”, Combeferre said, almost warningly.

“Let me lie here until I die”, Enjolras whispered.

“That’s overdramatic, even for you”, Combeferre immediately reprehended. “Talking of death now will do no one any good”.

“What else am I supposed to talk about?”, Enjolras shook his head slightly. “It is the only possible outcome to all of this. It will happen in a few hours. I can’t keep denying it anymore. Grantaire will die and there is nothing I can do to prevent it. There. That’s it. That’s the truth”, he scoffed. And then, voice more frustrated, after a few seconds of silence: “You should go find him”.

“Find him?”, Combeferre raised an eyebrow.

“Joly said he wouldn’t be at their place”, Enjolras shrugged. “He knows Grantaire better than most. He knows he’ll probably be getting shitfaced somewhere, alone, helpless. You should go look for him”.

“And you should know better than this. If Grantaire doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be”, Combeferre said apologetically. Enjolras huffed out an annoyed breath, finally turning to lie on his back, rather than his side.

“So you’ll just let him die alone in a gutter somewhere?”, Enjolras asked, staring at the ceiling.

“ _I_ am not letting anything happen to anyone, Enjolras. The only thing I am trying to do is to help a friend”, he explained.

“Yes, well, you’re failing miserably”, Enjolras said pettily.

“I wasn’t talking about Grantaire”, Combeferre tilted his head.

“You’re still failing”, Enjolras sniffed bitterly. “You can’t help me. No one can”.

“We have to talk about this”, Combeferre shook his head. “You can’t let his death destroy you like this. I understand that you need proper time to grief your loss, our loss, but this country and its people need you, we need you!”

“Are you seriously going to talk about this right now?”, Enjolras asked incredulously, finally meeting Combeferre’s eyes. “Grantaire, your friend, is about to die in a few hours, and he is missing, and all you can think about is _the cause_?”

“What surprises me is that _you’re not_ ”, Combeferre argued, raising his voice. “The cause has always been your priority in life. How can you neglect it like this now?”

“Because that was before him”, Enjolras responded, disbelief evident in his tone. “That was before all of this! Before my life was turned upside down and before I was caught in this whirlpool of deception and guilt and death!”

 “This isn’t healthy, Enjolras, you can’t give up everything in your life because of Grantaire! He is my friend and I love him, and his loss is breaking my fucking heart, but you can’t allow that to pull you down”, Combeferre took in a deep breath. “You can’t abandon the cause”.

“Grantaire is my cause”, Enjolras snarled.

A long silence followed in which Combeferre merely stared at Enjolras with something akin to disappointment in his eyes. Enjolras didn’t need it. He already felt bad enough.

Grantaire had stated clearly that he wasn’t – and didn’t want to become – one of Enjolras’ causes, and yet here Enjolras was, labeling him just as such. He couldn’t really judge Combeferre for being disappointed at him. He had changed. He was different. And unlike all the change he had always fought so hard for in his life, _this_ type of change scared him to the bones.

He no longer recognized himself.

“This is exactly what he feared”, Combeferre said, voice so much lower than it had been moments before that Enjolras’ ears almost couldn’t make out the words. Enjolras blinked. “Becoming one of your causes”, Combeferre added, raising an eyebrow as if to punctuate his argument. “Grantaire is a man of many flaws, yes, but he still feared you would idealize him and turn him into something to fight for as soon as he entered this relationship with you”.

“Stop”, Enjolras croaked, a knot appearing in his throat.

“You can’t fix him, Enjolras”, Combeferre breathed out, running a hand through his hair in a way that uncannily resembled Grantaire’s nervous habit. “He’s not broken to need fixing”.

“I know that”, Enjolras said, almost menacingly. He breathed in and out several times before continuing. “Maybe it’s for the best”.

“What is?”, Combeferre raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Him”, Enjolras shrugged, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. “Being… gone”.

Combeferre frowned, but didn’t say anything, as if waiting for Enjolras to continue. It took the leader a long time, and an alien anger mixed up with frustration invaded his chest in a choleric way as he mustered an answer.

“I don’t know who I am anymore”, Enjolras said, emotion flooding his voice. He sounded as if he was standing over the thin line between profound sadness and burning rage. “I have become a man that I am unable to recognize. I no longer dedicate myself to the cause, and that makes me feel guilty. Everything makes me feel guilty. It feels like the fire that used to light my passion has died out into nothing more than fading embers and gave place to a feeling that has consumed my very being ever since”, he exhaled, a mixture of a huff and a cut-off sob. “Loving Grantaire has destroyed me”.

“And now you think his death will fix that? You think his death will put your pieces back together?”, Combeferre asked sadly. He understood that Enjolras was in a very fragile, emotional state, and that he was saying things without thinking them through.

“It has to”, Enjolras said, a hint of desperation and helplessness appearing in his voice. He finally met Combeferre’s eyes. “It has to. It’s the only way I can return to the person I used to be. He’s… the only constant to everything that went wrong with my life. And he hates me. He probably wishes he had never taken that bullet for me in the first place”, he shook his head.

“Now, you’re just speaking nonsense”, Combeferre clicked his tongue and carefully approached Enjolras’ crying form on the bed.

“He hates me, and he’s right to”, Enjolras shook his head, squeezing his eyes tight as if he could prevent the tears from flowing out that way. “It shouldn’t have been him. It should never have been him, it was wrong, which is why everything is so fucked up now”, he sobbed, and Combeferre passed an arm around his shoulders.

“Enjolras, take a deep breath”, Combeferre instructed worriedly. “Can you do that for me? I need you to calm down”.

“I should have died on that day, not him”, Enjolras continued, unaware of Combeferre’s request. “This is the universe trying to get back to me for letting him die in my place”.

“You couldn’t have prevented it, Enjolras”, Combeferre shook his head. “From what you told me, you only realized what had happened when it was too late. It all happened too fast. It was not your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but the shooter’s”.

“I should have just listened to him”, Enjolras sobbed harder, face scrunching up in regret and anger. “I should have listened when he tried to take me away on the first time, but I was just so stupid and I didn’t and he died and it was all my fault and I don’t deserve his forgiveness”.

“Enjolras, breathe”, Combeferre instructed frantically, a trembling hand resting on the top of his friend’s chest.

“I can’t”, Enjolras chocked out, still sobbing, and finally allowed Combeferre to pull him closer, burying his face on the guide’s chest and continuing to alternate between sobbing and drawing in deep, loud breaths.

“Just breathe”, Combeferre said softly, rubbing a gentle hand across Enjolras’ back.

“I don’t want him to die”, Enjolras cried, voice breaking and high-pitched, fingers clutching the front of Combeferre’s shirt and clinging to it. “I was lying. I don’t want him to die. I don’t want him to die”.

“I know you don’t”, Combeferre nodded softly, resting his chin on the top of Enjolras’ head as they hugged. He pulled Enjolras slightly closer. “I know”.

“I don’t want him to die”, Enjolras sobbed again, sounding like a lost child. Tears rolled down Combeferre’s cheeks as well.

“None of us do”, he said, grief heavy in his voice.

“You have to find him”, Enjolras repeated his previous request, voice quieter this time as his sobs died down into a silent weeping. “It has to be you”.

“And why do you think he’d want me?”, Combeferre said, and only then Enjolras noticed the way Combeferre’s voice was trembling. “I’m the guy who pushed him away from you back into fighting in an underground club, and I am your best friend”, he shook his head. “I’m the last person he’d want to see right now”.

“But you have to”, Enjolras’ face scrunched up as he held back a sob. “You’re the most reasonable person I know, Ferre. I can’t go because he won’t have me, so it has to be you”.

“You’re just trying to send me away so you can be alone”, Combeferre laughed, but there was no humor in the gesture. In fact, it sounded more like a choked sob.

“I can’t do this right now”, Enjolras admitted, covering his face with both hands. “I really can’t. My whole future seems purposeless right now, I can’t… I can’t think or talk about it. I don’t want to think about it”.

“You’ll have to, Enjolras”, Combeferre said sadly.

“I know”, Enjolras took in a deep, shaky breath. “But I can’t. All I want right now is to know that Grantaire is safe and comfortable”, he lowered his head.

“He won’t be”, Combeferre said honestly, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “You know that”.

“I know”, Enjolras nodded. “But the only thing that I’ve ever been good at is hoping”.

“Don’t be stupid, you are good in plenty of other things”, Combeferre scoffed.

“None of them which were useful at saving Grantaire’s life”, Enjolras shrugged helplessly. Combeferre drew in a deep breath as if to regain his composure.

 “If you want me to leave, then I will leave”, Combeferre said, still holding Enjolras close to himself. “If you want me to try and find him, I will too, even though Joly, Bossuet and Jehan are already at it. The only thing I ask of you is: don’t shut me out”, he grabbed one of Enjolras’ hands and squeezed it. “Don’t shut any of your friends out. Everyone will be heartbroken. Isolating will only make everything much, much worse. We will all be here for you, and you know that. But the one thing this group can’t handle is losing both Grantaire and you in the same blow”.

Enjolras breathed in and out several times before daring to meet Combeferre’s eyes. He tried to transmit as much confidence as he could once he did.

“Ok”, Enjolras managed to say.

“Promise me”, Combeferre pressured, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I promise I won’t shut you or any of our friends out”, Enjolras muttered.

Combeferre finally broke their awkward sideways hug and studied his friend’s face for several seconds before nodding solemnly.

“I need you to also promise me that you won’t do anything stupid while I’m gone”, Combeferre added. Enjolras frowned.

“I won’t”, he swallowed dry. “I just want to be alone. For a while. Please”.

Combeferre bit his lower lip and nodded.

“I’m trusting you, Enjolras, and I worry about you. If the circumstances were any different, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone here. Not now”, Combeferre said, giving Enjolras’ hand another squeeze. “But the idea of Grantaire being all alone and miserable somewhere doesn’t appeal to me, either”.

“I know, Ferre”, Enjolras nodded. “Thank you”.

“Grantaire is my friend too, Enj”, Combeferre smiled sadly, getting up from the bed. Before he could walk to the door, a thought seemed to occur him, and he turned his head to look at his friend. “And please, just give Courfeyrac a hug, will you? He’s worried sick about you”, Combeferre added, sighing. Enjolras bit his lower lip, a guilty look washing over his face. He knew Courfeyrac well enough to know that the man was probably exploding from anticipation in the living room, probably wanting to speak to Enjolras but mustering all his self-control not to burst into the room while Combeferre spoke to him.

“I will”, Enjolras nodded again, staring at his own lap.

Before Combeferre could leave the room, Enjolras raised his head. Only then the realization of how disheveled and absolutely messy he must have been looking like, after all the time he spent crying.

“Ferre?”, he called tentatively, almost hesitant.

“Yes?”, Combeferre immediately turned around to lock eyes with Enjolras, an expectation of some sorts showing on the way he raised his eyebrows and stiffened his shoulders.

“When… If you find him”, Enjolras hesitated, blinking several times before he met Combeferre’s eyes again. He was well aware of the pleading in his expression, and for once, didn’t feel embarrassed about it. “Just… make sure he’s ok”, he continued, frustrated that he couldn’t expect certainty from any aspect of that situation. The only thing he could hope for was that things would be better.

Combeferre sighed sadly before giving Enjolras a short, solemn nod.

“I’ll try my best”.

-

Hours passed.

Enjolras didn’t dare to pick up his phone, not even to call Combeferre and ask for an update on his hunt for Grantaire. He was too afraid of what he would see on the screen, or rather, what he would _not_ see. The absence of any messages from Grantaire somehow hurt more than if the cynic had flooded him with hateful, aggressive texts.

The foolish, vulnerable part of his heart longed for a text or a call from Grantaire, longed to turn the screen on and find a message, or any signal from Grantaire. He wished to find a text saying that he forgave Enjolras, or at least that he was ok and safe. He would have taken any scornful, angry message instead of the silence, even. But Enjolras wasn’t optimistic enough to actually believe his wish would come true.

Grantaire didn’t want to see or speak to him, and there was nothing Enjolras could do to change that.

The stream of thoughts about Grantaire’s death – and what would happen during its aftermath – that Enjolras had been avoiding fiercely during the past month seemed to be the only thing he could think about now, that he was left alone with no one to bother him or try and make him feel better about himself. It felt as if all the time he had spent ignoring the countdown clock begun to demand his full attention in few seconds, followed by an ominous feeling that only increased with each passing minute. An entire month of worriedness and anguish took over his mind in little time, overwhelming him with anxiety, and yet, he still couldn’t accept the imminent fate that would be accomplished in only a few hours.

As much as he knew that this was unavoidable and would most definitely happen, Enjolras still couldn’t quite convince himself that Grantaire would actually die.

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. The idea itself was unbearable, and Enjolras was very aware of how absolutely stupid it was to just hope that it wouldn’t happen, but as he had said once before, hoping was the only thing he could do properly. He had to hope. He had tried to beg for Grantaire’s forgiveness, he had humiliated himself, he had done everything in his power to try and find a solution for the godforsaken clock glued to his nightstand, and he had failed all those things. The only solution he had left was to hope.

It was amazing how his brain clung to the last remaining scraps of his hope as a lifeline, almost as if it was aware that, without it, Enjolras’ mind would fall apart into a void of nothingness. Without hope, Enjolras was nothing. And perhaps it was naïve of him to so fiercely believe in something that had no odds whatsoever of coming true, but still, he couldn’t find himself capable of letting go.

Of course, that came to an end after five hours passed and he received no news from anyone.

He had very vehemently reinforced his wish to be left alone, even after Courfeyrac clung himself to his shirt and sobbed helplessly against his shoulder. _He still_ wanted to be left alone, now that he lied curled onto himself on his bed, Brownie cuddled against his chest. But the feeling of crippling loneliness that overcame him after the third hour was something that Enjolras would have never asked to feel. He usually enjoyed being alone, because it gave him more time and creative space for his ideas and his work, but Combeferre had been right. Enjolras had never liked being _lonely_.

Would he feel like this every day after Grantaire’s death?

All that Enjolras seemed to be capable of feeling recently was self-loathing. Just as Combeferre had told him, he was neglecting the cause, which once had been the most important thing in his life, and now was nothing more than a background thought and something he used to distract himself when things became too overwhelming. This was so terribly unlike himself, Enjolras realized, and once his thoughts headed towards that path, he couldn’t go back. He no longer felt like himself. He no longer acted like himself. He had never been this emotional, or this easy to distract. He had always managed to maintain a level-headedness that he was lacking now, especially during the past days. Had he been in his right mind, he would have never approached Fred as aggressively as he did, or forced Grantaire to dance with him. He would have never allowed himself to be this consumed by his emotions, and yet here he was, weeping silently in a fetal position on his bed.

Now that he thought about it, he realized. He had always managed to maintain his head leveled, unless when it came to Grantaire. Grantaire had always been the one factor, the one constant that made him lose his temper, that made him yell harsh words he didn’t mean to and do things he regretted instantly. Grantaire was, and had always been, the one thing that threw Enjolras off his balance, that made Enjolras lose himself.

Maybe loving Grantaire had only aggravated this.

Deep down, he just wanted things to go back to the way they were. He wouldn’t exchange his love for Grantaire for anything under any circumstances, but he couldn’t keep living like this anymore, either. He was neglecting his responsibilities and his people, he was even neglecting his friends and their wellbeing. Enjolras hated this man he had become, and he hated ever allowing Grantaire to die for him, not only because that had doomed the cynic for good, but also because it had doomed Enjolras along with him.

Eventually, Brownie got bored of cuddling with his owner and hopped off the bed to mind his own business, leaving Enjolras with an even stronger feeling of solitude and sadness. The spot on his chest that Brownie had been resting against was awkwardly cold now that the puppy’s heat was gone, and this only served to aggravate Enjolras’ state of miserableness. He felt too small in his bed, now that he had grown accustomed to having another body sleeping beside him. He felt too small in his bedroom, in his apartment, in the world. Everything felt too big and lonely without Grantaire there beside him. It was as if the world had lost its color.

His exhausted mind was beginning to doze off, finally giving in to the incessant hours of stress, when a loud banging noise coming from his living room made Enjolras jump into a sitting position on the bed. His heart – which had just begun to calm itself down into a steadier, slower rhythm – begun racing once again and Enjolras’ breath caught in his throat from the startle. Brownie immediately stopped what he was doing and ran to the door, frantically scratching it and barking a few times, desperate to open it. Enjolras’ eyes immediately shot up to his phone and he checked it, but there were no missed phone calls or texts. He swallowed dry.

Before he could break himself free from his paralysis to go and get the door, another banging noise echoed across the apartment, as if someone was punching his front door. He flinched in surprise, but the urgency of the person on his door made him finally get to his feet and rush to get it. Brownie was jumping frantically and barking when Enjolras twisted the doorknob, expecting it to be an angry Jehan or a furious Joly. Maybe even Combeferre, bearing either good news or bad news.

It was neither of them.

There, standing on his doorstep, with a sledgehammer thrown on the top of his shoulder and an elbow leaning on his door frame, was Grantaire.

Enjolras couldn’t help but to stare at him in what could only be described as pure shock, lips parting to form an ‘o’ and eyes widening as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Grantaire was there. He was there, and he was still alive, and yes, he still looked like he was mad at Enjolras, and there were unhealthily dark circles beneath his eyes and a sickening paleness to his face, but he was there, right there, and Enjolras would have probably kissed him if he had been able to urge himself to move.

Grantaire was bearing a sledgehammer, which was thrown casually over his shoulder as if it wasn’t a big deal, but Enjolras spent so much time staring at the cynic’s face (as if trying to memorize it) that it took him longer than it should have to notice it. His eyes eventually darted to it, however, and before he could frown in confusion, Grantaire spoke up, and Enjolras would be damned if hearing the sound of his voice, in person, after so many hours of despair wasn’t the most fulfilling experience he had ever gone through.

“I hope you’re not too emotionally attached to your nightstand”, Grantaire stated simply, voice blank of any emotion, and then he was unceremoniously walking past Enjolras and entering the apartment. The leader tried to say something in response, but it was as if he had become incapable of forming words all of a sudden. He stood there, frozen in shock and confusion for several seconds before his brain caught up with what was happening. He urged some movement into his legs and followed Grantaire into his bedroom, Brownie jumping and barking excitedly on their heels.

Enjolras wished he could tell himself that he had been prepared for what was to come, but he wasn’t. As soon as he entered Enjolras’ room, Grantaire unceremoniously swung the sledgehammer above his head before setting it down on the countdown clock at full strength, smashing it to pieces instantly. Even though the device was already destroyed with one blow and the nightstand, broken in half, Grantaire swung the hammer one more time and hit the wrecked nightstand again. This kept going until there was nothing but a pile of splinters and broken wood on Enjolras’ floor, and tiny pieces of plastic that were barely recognizable as a clock anymore. Grantaire had smashed Enjolras’ nightstand – and the countdown clock along – with his sledgehammer.

 Grantaire panted, setting the sledgehammer down on the floor absentmindedly and with a loud clank, and only after he poked the pile that used to be a piece of furniture assertively with the tip of his shoe, he turned around to face Enjolras, face glistening with the sweat that the physical effort had brought.

They stared at each other for a long time, Grantaire red faced and panting, Enjolras pale and shocked, mouth still gaping. The leader’s eyebrows were slightly twisted in a shocked frown.

“So?”, Grantaire finally said, voice hoarse and inquisitive. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Enjolras, nodding briefly at the destroyed nightstand at his feet. His eyes were fixed intensely upon Enjolras. “You have nothing to say?”

Enjolras blinked dumbly for a few seconds, mind feeling ethereal and absent. Due to his lightheadedness, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“My grandmother had given me that nightstand”, he said, sounding shocked, rather than upset. Grantaire stared at him for a few seconds before scoffing and giving him a lopsided grin that was too familiar.

How Enjolras had missed that mocking, relentless grin.

“Well”, he shrugged, and then he threw himself on Enjolras’ bed, lying down, and kicked his shoes off as if he was at his own house. It was as if the two of them had never fought and yelled at each other for the past two days. “I wish I could say I was sorry, but if we’re going to start being honest with each other, I can’t really do that”. He stared up at Enjolras almost defyingly.

“What…”, Enjolras started, blinking several times as if trying to comprehend the situation, but stopped to clear his throat and take a deep, calming breath. He wasn’t quite sure he could feel his own face. He cleared his throat before continuing: “What are you doing here?”

Like it always happened when it came to Grantaire, the words that left Enjolras’ mouth weren’t quite the ones he would have chosen, had he given it any proper thought beforehand. They ended up sounding harsh and inquisitive, as if Grantaire’s presence was being rejected by Enjolras. That was the farthest thing possible from the truth.

Grantaire scoffed at him again, the grin never leaving his lips. If anything, it only grew wider. He didn’t look at Enjolras when he responded, and passed both arms behind his head to sustain it. He passed one leg on the top of the other, making it look like that was his own bed, rather than Enjolras’. Not that Enjolras minded, of course.

“Well, from the amount of people that I found chasing me tonight, I thought you might be eager to see me”, he shrugged again, but there was a seriousness in his eyes this time. “I thought it wouldn’t kill me to pay you a visit”, he added, but then paused, grin widening into a full smile. “This was probably the wrong choice of words”, he chuckled.

Enjolras sulked, looking at Grantaire as if that was the meanest, cruelest thing he could have said. The cynic rolled his eyes, sighing.

“Oh, come on, cheer up a bit”, he said, shifting to the corner of the bed. “Why the long face? Where’s the funeral?”, he asked, a shit eating grin appearing on his lips. However, the more Grantaire’s smile widened, the more tears puddled in Enjolras’ eyes.

“Stop”, Enjolras said simply, standing in the middle of his room with the saddest look in his face. Grantaire’s smile died just a little bit.

“Look, if you don’t want me here, I’ll just leave”, Grantaire shrugged again, but made no indication that he would get up. Enjolras took an involuntary step forward, eyes never leaving Grantaire, who raised an eyebrow at him. Still, he couldn’t say anything.

While he had spent all those hours by himself waiting for news on Grantaire, all he could think about was what he was going to tell the man if he ever saw him again. He had made enough apologies, and he had made enough speeches. He could certainly muster some more, if Grantaire would only give him the chance. But now, there the cynic was, right in front of him, lying on his bed, waiting for him to say something, and Enjolras was at a loss for words. He just stood there, staring at the cynic, frozen to his feet.

Eventually, Grantaire got tired of the suffocating silence and awkward staring between them and sat up on the bed, sighing heavily and looking like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes again.

“Will you just say something?”, Grantaire asked Enjolras, sounding displeased. Enjolras opened and closed his mouth like a fish, blinking and attempting to recompose himself.

“W-what do you want me to say?”, he asked, voice faltering for a moment but growing stronger as he opened and closed his hands into fists. Grantaire shrugged, all traces of a smile disappearing from his lips. He didn’t look sad, but he didn’t look happy or playful, either.

“You didn’t seem to be able to shut up, a few hours ago”, he said simply. “Are you telling me you have nothing to say to me?”

“I already told you everything I wanted”, Enjolras said simply, body unmoving. “That I am sorry. That I should have told you. That I love you”.

“Yeah, right”, Grantaire scoffed, but the smallest grin reappeared on his lips. He leaned back against the bed. “I keep forgetting how pragmatic you are”.

“It’s not pragmatism, it’s the truth”, Enjolras frowned. “You deserved to know it, so I told you. My only regret is that I did so too late”.

“True”, Grantaire shrugged and nodded. Enjolras pretended his heart wasn’t breaking all over again.

“I’m sorry”, Enjolras repeated for what felt like the thousandth time, taking another step towards the bed.

“Said that already”, Grantaire raised both eyebrows, leaning his head back with ease. Enjolras worried at his lower lip, ignoring the way it stung. He forgot about the cut in it.

“I don’t know what else to say”, Enjolras whispered sincerely, taking another hesitant step towards the bed. Now he was standing right beside it, mere inches away from Grantaire’s splayed form. If he had the courage, he could outstretch his hand and touch the cynic’s arm. “I’ve already told you everything. Everything”, he closed his eyes, lowering his head. “And I know you hate me, with reason. Which is why I wanted to know what you are doing here”.

Grantaire looked up at Enjolras, studying his face for a long time, intense grey eyes reading every inch of the leader’s features like a difficult book.

“Jehan found me”, Grantaire said tentatively, almost as if he was trying to earn a reaction from Enjolras. It worked, for the leader immediately raised his head to meet Grantaire’s eyes, a confused look in his face. “He is the second best at finding my hiding spots. The first one is Joly, of course”, he shrugged. “Anyway. He convinced me to give you one last chance”.

“He… did?”, Enjolras frowned. When Jehan burst out of the back room, Enjolras had assumed that he had been angry at him, not that he would support him.

“Yeah”, Grantaire nodded. “He said a lot of crap about all this shit that has been going on lately. And the fact that he knew about this whole shit and didn’t tell me about it didn’t make me particularly happy with him, either. But he made a good point that sort of convinced me to show up here”.

Enjolras swallowed dry.

“What was that?”, he asked, trying his best to keep the sheer curiosity he was feeling out of his voice. Grantaire chuckled again and turned his head away from Enjolras, almost as if he was embarrassed with the answer. Enjolras gathered what little courage he had left and sat at the edge of his bed, hip brushing against Grantaire’s leg. He pretended the touch and the warmth Grantaire was emanating wasn’t the greatest thing he had ever felt, and did his best to keep a straight face on as he waited for the cynic’s answer.

“Well”, Grantaire smiled sadly, almost shyly. He looked melancholic like that. “If I’m really going to die, then…”, he paused, turning his head to look deeply into Enjolras’ eyes. “I suppose everyone knows who’s the one person I’d rather spend my last hours with”.

Enjolras stared at Grantaire, lips parted slightly as he took in the meaning of those words. Grantaire chuckled at the leader’s silence.

“God, you really can’t make up your mind, can you? When I can’t stand looking at you, you can’t seem to leave me alone, or shut the hell up, but the moment when I most need you to say something, you’re as silent as a statue”, he shook his head.

“I…”, Enjolras started, frowned, lowered his head in deep thought and then continued. “I… I don’t know what to say, because I wasn’t expecting this. I thought you hated me”, he explained, confusion evident in his face.

“Fuck”, Grantaire covered his eyes with the ball of his hands, smiling humorlessly. “I wish I could hate you, Enjolras. I really do. But even after everything, I found myself unable of getting my mind out of you”.

“Grantaire”, Enjolras said simply. A call. A silent, mysterious plead for the man to uncover his eyes.

“I fucking hate all of this, Enjolras. I hate that you lied to me. I hate that you hid the truth. I hate what you’ve done to yourself for the past month. And I hate this stupid nightstand, and the stupid clock, and I hate that I only got to be happy with you for a single month. But I don’t hate you. I have never”, he finally uncovered his eyes, staring up at the ceiling instead of Enjolras. “I would never. I am not capable of that”.

Enjolras tentatively reached for Grantaire’s hand and squeezed it, eyes never leaving the cynic’s increasingly saddened face.

“I’m just… not capable of that”, he repeated, voice merely above a whisper this time. Enjolras’ lips were drawn downwards in a grim expression.

“I’m sorry that this has happened to you”, Enjolras said. He was well aware that the frequency with which he was making apologies was becoming unbearable, but if he was given the chance, he would apologize to Grantaire forever. “I’m sorry that I have forced this fate upon you”.

Grantaire’s sad look twisted into a confused, incredulous expression.

“What is that supposed to mean?”, he looked at Enjolras as if the leader had just suggested that they set the apartment on fire. Enjolras blinked in confusion, frowning back at Grantaire.

“If it hadn’t been for me, none of this would have happened”, Enjolras explained as if it was obvious. “I’m the reason there is a death sentence hanging above your head”.

Grantaire stared up at Enjolras, lips forming a thin line, for what felt like an uncomfortable eternity.

“So, what you’re saying is”, he said after a while, “you think I should have let you die instead?”

Enjolras nodded without hesitation. Grantaire’s nostrils flared.

He turned his head away from Enjolras, incredulously staring up at the ceiling as if expecting it would send him some sort of heavenly answer on how to deal with the situation. He lowered his head, rubbing a hand on his face and then on his hair, before leaning his weight on his elbows so that he could prop himself into a straighter sitting position. He crossed his legs in front of him and drew in a preparatory breath, taking Enjolras’ hands into his and gently squeezing them before meeting the leader’s eyes.

“You have seriously misunderstood my feelings for you if you think there is a universe in which I would ever, ever allow you to die when there is another alternative on the table”, Grantaire said simply, blatantly, grey irises burning their way into Enjolras’ memory. “I don’t regret taking that bullet for you. I don’t regret dying for you”, he lifted a hand to brush away one of Enjolras’ stray curls, pushing it gently behind the leader’s ear. This was the most tender gesture Grantaire had done for Enjolras in the past two days. “I would die for you any day, if you just said the word”.

“Don’t say this”, Enjolras shook his head, lowering it to hide the tears pooling in his eyes. “Don’t say this. I don’t want you to”.

“It’s not up to you”, Grantaire scoffed, placing a finger beneath Enjolras’ chin and tilting his head slightly upwards so that they were face to face. This sudden tenderness Enjolras was being treated with, rather than the sarcasm or the aggressiveness of before, was making him feel like crying all over again. “It’s not your call to make. I did what I did because I wanted to. I did what I did because I love you”.

“How can you?”, Enjolras asked, sounding almost angry. “You said it yourself. All I did was lie to you and manipulate you”.

“Yeah”, Grantaire chuckled, and Enjolras held back a sob. “Don’t think I’m not still angry at you for that”, he shrugged. “But I was also wrong”, he continued, switching back to gentleness. “You aren’t a horrible person, Enjolras. And I may be pretty damn angry at what you did, but I think that I can bring myself to understand why you hid the truth, if I put a little effort into it”.

“You can?”, Enjolras asked, hating the way his voice sounded so blatantly hopeful. Grantaire chuckled again, letting go of Enjolras completely.

“Do you love me?”, Grantaire asked simply, raising an eyebrow as if that was his point all along. Enjolras frowned, indignant. He understood why Grantaire doubted his feelings, but still, having his emotions so carelessly discredited was unsettling.

“Of course I do”, Enjolras huffed out as if that was the most ridiculous question he had ever heard in his life. “I love you more than words can say, I love you more than I had ever loved anyone, I love you beyond speeches and declarations and essays could explain”.

Grantaire sustained Enjolras’ frantic gaze for several moments before speaking up.

“Then show me”, he stated simply, a curious, almost defying look in his face.

“What?”, Enjolras asked, taken aback.

“If your love for me is beyond words, then express it through gestures”, Grantaire explained. “Show me just how much you love me”.

Enjolras stared – gaped – at Grantaire for a long time, as if trying to decide whether or not the man was being serious, and once he decided that yes, that determined glisten in Grantaire’s eyes was enough evidence that he wasn’t kidding about something for the first time in his life, he threw himself against the cynic, pulling him into a breathtaking, quite messy kiss, full on the lips. Grantaire made a surprised little noise on the back of his throat, having to lean on his elbows to keep his balance while Enjolras allowed his tongue to explore the cynic’s lower lip.

Grantaire held Enjolras closer, fingers digging into the man’s waist as Enjolras got on the top of him and rocked his hips on the top of him. Enjolras soon found Grantaire’s neck, and Grantaire’s earlobe, and Grantaire’s collarbone, and Grantaire’s nipple, and Grantaire’s hip.

“Are you sure about this?”, Grantaire panted, looking down at Enjolras with red lips and blown pupils. There was a slight blush to his cheeks that made him look more helpless than Enjolras had ever seen him.

“Do you want it?”, Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow. Grantaire huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Enjolras?”, he asked. “I’ve wanted this from the moment I first saw you”.

A sincere smile found its way to Enjolras’ lips for what seemed to be the first time in a long while, a mixture of relief, happiness and determination appearing in his eyes. He placed a sloppy kiss right beneath Grantaire’s bellybutton before climbing his way up the cynic until he was sitting on his lap, face to face with him.

“Then let me show you just how much I love you”, he whispered, before pulling Grantaire into another kiss.

-

They stayed in silence for a long time, lying side by side on the bed, Grantaire covered partially by Enjolras’ white sheet, while Enjolras rested completely exposed to the night breeze coming through the window. The only sounds that could be heard in the bedroom were the tired pants that the both of them were making as they attempted to even out their breathing patterns. A sheen of sweat covered both of the men’s skins, and Grantaire had his eyes closed and his face slack in an expression of pure bliss, exactly like the one he had made while reaching his climax. Enjolras’ lips were parted, relaxed as well, but there was the hint of a frown in the middle of his brow.

“If I had known this would be this good, I would definitely die for you more often”, Grantaire said, breathless, a wide, genuine smile blossoming in his lips. Enjolras, however, didn’t smile back, staring at Grantaire with a reprehending look instead.

“Don’t say that”, Enjolras asked, frown deepening. “It’s not funny”.

“Fine”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “But I’ll have you know that I’m probably free of whatever hex I might have had before”, he added. Enjolras’ frown didn’t dissipate, and he turned on his side, hand splayed on the top of Grantaire’s chest, as if inquiring him to continued. “I broke your clock to pieces”, Grantaire explained simply, idly caressing the back of Enjolras’ hand that was on his chest. “And, since it didn’t instantly kill me, I guess it’s safe to say that it broke the curse”.

“It wasn’t a curse”, Enjolras protested, which earned an eyeroll from Grantaire.

“Yeah, fine, whatever”, he said. Enjolras leaned his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, and the cynic pulled him closer into a cuddlier position. Enjolras passed an arm on the top of Grantaire’s chest.

“Did I manage to prove my point?”, Enjolras asked after a few moments. Grantaire hummed absentmindedly, as if he hadn’t been paying attention and was asking Enjolras to repeat himself. “About loving you”, it was Enjolras’ time to roll his eyes. “Do you believe me now?”

Grantaire laughed loudly at this, shaking shoulders bumping against Enjolras’ head.

“Fuck, if your love for me is as intense as the orgasm you just gave me, then heck yes, I totally, undoubtedly, _absolutely_ believe you”, he said, giving Enjolras a shit-eating grin. “You did very well for a virgin, by the way”.

“Not a virgin anymore”, Enjolras shrugged, placing a sloppy kiss against Grantaire’s shoulder. “You made sure that was taken care of”.

“Oh, yes”, Grantaire stretched his arms like a cat, then turning on his side and pulling Enjolras even closer to him. “What a great sacrifice that was. You should probably repay me for my efforts, it was all so _tiring_ and _demanding_ –“

“Shut up”, Enjolras chuckled, playfully shoving Grantaire to the side.

“Make me”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow at Enjolras.

“Stupid man”, Enjolras called gently, stealing a quick kiss from Grantaire’s lips. “Does this mean we’re boyfriends again?”, he asked tentatively, trying to sound lighthearted but unable to keep the hesitance from his voice. Grantaire shrugged.

“I’m still kind of mad”, he said, and Enjolras’ heart tightened. “But I suppose, if you keep trying to make it up to me like you did five minutes ago, I’ll probably forgive you”.

Enjolras laughed, but it sounded forced even to his own ears. Grantaire must have sensed that, because he gently removed Enjolras’ arm from the top of him and turned on his side so that they could face each other, the tip of their noses almost glued.

“Hey”, Grantaire said, allowing his fingers to trail soothing patterns on Enjolras’ temple. “I forgive you. You know I do, right?”

Enjolras merely buried his face on the crook of Grantaire’s neck, unable to give the cynic the answer he was expecting.

“Hey”, Grantaire called gently. “Look at me?”

Enjolras urged himself to raise his head and look at Grantaire, even though his eyes couldn’t quite meet the cynic’s.

“You don’t have to worry, Enjolras”, Grantaire reassured, fingers never stopping to caress his hair. “I told you. The clock is gone. Things will be fine, now”.

“How can you be sure?”, Enjolras asked, scared green eyes finding Grantaire’s expressive ones. “How can you know that something horrible won’t happen?”

“Hey. I’m the pessimistic one in the relationship”, he teased, but it felt forced, even to him. Enjolras only mustered a sad smile. “Look. I’ve spent a great deal of my life believing in nothing, but as soon as I met you, I knew that I believed in you”, he sighed. “Can you return the favor, just this once, and believe in me back?”

Enjolras examined Grantaire’s face for a long time, and that tiny, remaining sparkle of hope that was so desperately trying to break itself free from his chest stirred to life once again at Grantaire’s words. Maybe Enjolras could still hope, after all. Maybe, he was right to hope.

The truth was, he didn’t have many options. He either believed that Grantaire was right and he would be ok, or he would have to accept the fact that the man would die, not only for him, but because of him, twice.

Enjolras had never been able to find anything other than scorn and mockery in Grantaire’s eyes before, but that had been in the past, when Enjolras had been painfully oblivious to the man’s feelings and they did nothing but to scream hurtful words at each other. But he had never looked closed enough, he had never spared much time into actually trying to see what Grantaire’s eyes truly held, because if he had, he would have seen it. He would have seen what he was seeing now, as they lied side by side on the same bed, staring lovingly at each other after making love for the first time after two days of emotional stress and relationship trials. If Enjolras had bothered to look, actually look into Grantaire’s eyes before that fateful protest ever happened, if he had bothered to see him as he should be seen, to love him as he should be loved, he would have known. He would have seen what he was seeing now.

Because there, hidden beneath a weak, fake layer of cynicism inside of Grantaire’s eyes, there was a familiar glistening of something that Enjolras, and only ever Enjolras had been able to sparkle. Because Grantaire, the nonbeliever, had always been drawn by what he lacked, like the blind man searching for the light, or a Pylades in an eternal search for his Orestes. And maybe Grantaire _was_ a cynic, and maybe he _was_ a skeptic, but just as much loving Grantaire had changed Enjolras and turned him into a completely different version of himself, loving Enjolras had changed Grantaire into someone who, despite of all odds, all nature, all fate, could finally find himself something to believe in. No one loves the light as the blind man does, and no one had ever loved Enjolras as much as Grantaire did. Enjolras sparkled something new inside of him, something strong and alien and beautiful, fiery, and consuming, capable of changing his very core from a skeptic to a believer with the mere sound of the leader’s voice. If Enjolras could have such a positive effect on Grantaire, then maybe he shouldn’t resist the effect Grantaire seemed to be having on him.

Grantaire was right. Enjolras could – and would – believe him, if only for once in his life. He had already lied and hidden truths from Grantaire, all because he didn’t believe enough in him. He had doubted Grantaire, doubted his ability to add to the cause, doubted his ability to believe, and live, and think, and die. He had been proved wrong in all these occasions. Maybe it was time he placed a little faith on Grantaire. After all, there was nothing Enjolras did better than _placing his faith_ on people.

“I believe you”, Enjolras smiled, placing a kiss on the spot where Grantaire’s jaw met his neck. “I believe you”, he repeated, placing another kiss on the tip of Grantaire’s nose. “I believe you”, he kept repeating the words like a mantra, placing kisses all over Grantaire, who reciprocated them by nuzzling at Enjolras neck. And just like that, after an eternity of love confessions and quick kisses, they fell asleep, holding each other close and just allowing themselves to rejoice at the warmth and the pleasant scent that was invading each other’s nostrils.

When Enjolras woke up on the following morning, Grantaire was dead.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (slightly late) barricade day!

Grantaire’s body was as cold as the marble he always compared Enjolras to.

He didn’t look peaceful or as if he was sleeping, like Enjolras had heard and read about so many times in romantic metaphors that the great masses seemed to love so much. He didn’t look as if he was taking a nap, or as if he was relaxed. He looked pale, pale, deadly pale like a statue, and his whole body was already stiff and cold as stone. He didn’t look like a person. He didn’t look like Grantaire. He looked like a body. Grantaire’s body.

That was no longer Grantaire.

Enjolras stared at the body for what felt like an eternity, mind trying and failing to properly compute what had happened. He knew it, from the moment he woke up and turned on the bed, eyes still closed, to snuggle Grantaire. His hands met the stiff body and the still chest, and Enjolras stayed there, frozen in spot just as much as Grantaire’s body was frozen, heart beating madly and painfully inside his chest (in a way Grantaire’s heart could no longer do) and not daring to open his eyes. If he opened his eyes, it would all become true. If he saw Grantaire, dead, lifeless, motionless, it would only make it true. So he stayed there, increasingly trembling hands resting on the top of Grantaire’s still chest, eyes closed and lids twitching as he fought the urge to open them, shaky breath never quite leaving his mouth as he held it inside it.

But once Enjolras opened his eyes he couldn’t look away. So he stared at Grantaire, for ages, his chest falling and rising with an obvious hitch, as he did his best to not burst into tears. He just watched. He watched, unblinking, as if to not miss any possible rise of chest or shudder or anything, any motion that Grantaire could do to indicate that he was alive, that this was a cruel prank he was playing on Enjolras. He watched. And he waited. The room around him seemed non-existent – the only thing Enjolras could focus his attention on was Grantaire, and it felt like the rest of the world had been sucked into a void and disappeared from existence, for all Enjolras cared. There was no sound. No motion. The floating dust appearing on a streak of sunshine that had teared itself from the closed curtains of Enjolras’ bedroom seemed too ethereal and dreamlike to be real. Enjolras ignored it. He ignored everything that wasn’t Grantaire, lying motionless on his bed, looking paler than Enjolras had ever seen him, even on his bad days.

It took what felt like a millennium until something inside of Enjolras’ chest burst without warning and he finally sobbed, the ugly sound erupting from his throat as suddenly and loudly as the gunshot that had first killed Grantaire. He didn’t know where it had come from, or what was the process of thought that finally made him break and allow the sob to scrunch up his face and break his façade. All he knew was that, once he started sobbing, he could no longer stop himself. And so he allowed the hot, burning tears to run freely down his cheeks, face already flushing, as desperate, wailing sobs echoed across Enjolras’ otherwise silent room.

He found himself falling forwards, on the top of Grantaire’s chest, Enjolras lying sideways on the bed while his fingers clutched tightly to the cynic’s shirt, holding onto him as if it was a lifeline. He buried his face against Grantaire’s still chest, unable to face the cynic’s face any longer, and if Enjolras had dared to breathe in, he would still be able to feel Grantaire’s scent invading his nostrils, an aura of some sorts that was the only remaining evidence that Grantaire had ever been alive. His unnaturally still form resembled more a copy of Grantaire than the cynic himself, but the smell of cheap whisky mixed with cologne and skin reminded Enjolras that this used to be Grantaire, at least until a few hours before.

 A dawning realization hit him like a truck and only made him cry harder, hands pulling Grantaire’s chest closer to his face as he did so. He had been asleep when Grantaire died.

Had he silently agonized beside Enjolras, without him realizing? Had he attempted to rouse Enjolras from sleep, without being able to? Had he made a sound, which Enjolras didn’t hear? Had he simply exhaled his last breath and slipped away from himself peacefully and quietly? Had he panicked? Had he suffered? Had he been in pain? Enjolras didn’t know the answers to any of these questions. How could he not know? He had been there, right beside Grantaire through the whole night, he had been right there. How could Enjolras possibly not know?

The most disturbing part was that he had _trusted_ Grantaire. He had gone off to sleep under the reassuring certainty that Grantaire had been right and breaking the countdown clock would bring an end to its fate imposition. He had relaxed. He had lowered his guard. He was so desperate to ignore the consequences of the countdown, he thrived so hard for a release from his dreadful responsibility over someone else’s death, that he allowed himself to sell his trust to the first bidder. _He wanted_ to believe that the countdown was over, it would be _easier_ to believe that. It was his own fault from allowing himself to believe in a forged truth that was designed to merely ease Enjolras from his own crushing guilt, even if for at least some moments in the face of the entire month he had to go through.

_So what? What if you knew that breaking the clock wouldn’t work? What would you have done, anyway?,_ a cruel inner voice on the back of Enjolras’ head whispered angrily. _You would be as helpless as you were on the day Grantaire bled out in front of your very eyes. You would have done nothing._

“Please”, Enjolras chocked, voice hoarse from tears and the lack of use, muffled by Grantaire’s  now damp from tears shirt. “Please, no”, he continued. Now that he had begun to croak out the words that were trying to burst themselves from his chest as soon as he realized Grantaire was dead, he couldn’t seem to shut up. There were tears running down his cheeks, snot running down his nose and his face was red and scrunched up from crying but he kept going, ignoring the disgusting pool of saliva and tears that was beginning to coat on the front of Grantaire’s shirt. Enjolras carefully cleaned it away with his thumb, caressing Grantaire’s chest and then his collarbone. He still didn’t dare to look at the cynic, face hidden away. “Please, R, please, no, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything”.

Enjolras continued to caress Grantaire’s dead body, shaking hands finding their way to Grantaire’s jaw, cheek bone and temple. He allowed himself to climb further up the bed, so that he could lie directly above Grantaire’s body and rest his forehead against the cynic’s, eyes closed and brow furred in sheer sorrow. Grantaire’s skin was so unnaturally cold that Enjolras couldn’t help but to subconsciously attempt to rub some warmth into him, running both hands up and down the man’s arms as if to keep him protected from the cold. Except the room was perfectly warm, and Grantaire was cold only because he was no longer alive.

“I’ll do anything”, Enjolras continued to moan grievously, sounding desperate. While his shoulders shook from his sobs, Grantaire remained still as stone. “I’ll do anything you want. Please, come back. Just come back to me. I’ll do anything. Please. Please. Please”.

Grantaire’s lips were slightly parted, revealing just the tip of his upper teeth. Enjolras remembered that Grantaire mentioned he hated when this happened; sometimes, when he was too tired, he would fall asleep and his mouth would become slack, lips parted to reveal his allegedly “ugly teeth” and his tongue. Grantaire always said it left him with a dumb face. Enjolras couldn’t disagree more.

An overwhelming sense of helplessness and despair overcame Enjolras and he found himself shaking Grantaire’s shoulders slightly as if to urge some life into him, or wake him up. He knew how useless that was, but still, he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t let Grantaire die on him. He just couldn’t.

“Grantaire”, Enjolras wailed, voice thick and heavy with tears, hands shaking Grantaire’s shoulders gently. “Grantaire. Grantaire. Grantaire”, he continued to call the name until the words were no longer discernible from an animalistic wail. Enjolras let go of the body, which flopped back to the bed ungracefully, and took his hands to his own hair, pulling tightly as if to ground himself to the reality. “No”, he cried out, feeling strands of his curls being tore away from his head. “No, no, no, please, no. I’ll do anything”, desperation was evident in his voice. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave”, he cried out, shoulders shaking aggressively from the strength of each of his sobs. “I need you. Please”.

Still, Grantaire lied on the bed, as motionless as before. If anything, Enjolras shaking his shoulder had only contributed to dishevel him further, and Grantaire’s limbs were now askew on the bed, mouth even more parted than before. He would hate Enjolras for that. He hated when he slept with his mouth closed, he’d be so angry. He’d be disappointed. What had he done.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”, Enjolras begged, face nearly unrecognizable from grief and pain. He attempted to lightly brush his fingers against Grantaire’s cold, chapped lips, meaning to shut them, but his hand was shaking too hard and was covered in tears and snot. “I didn’t mean to”, Enjolras tried to explain, breath catching in his throat. “I never meant for you to die”, he continued, having to stop himself to take a deep breath between every two other words. His lower lip was quivering and his vision was blurry, but he still ran his shaky fingers through Grantaire’s curls, in a foolish attempt to keep them in place. “I never meant for any of this to happen”, he chocked, throat constricting.

Inhaling was becoming more and more difficult with each shaky breath Enjolras took, and soon, he felt like there was a ton of weight pressing his chest down. Grief, pain and the beginning of a panic attack were crushing his ribcage and making it impossible for him to breathe. There was no longer room for air in his lungs, and all he could do was faintly try to reach for Grantaire’s arm before he lost balance and fell on his side, too close to the edge of the bed, which made him roll off it and fall on the floor headfirst. He could feel Brownie approaching him to sniff his ear and lick his face, but his vision was too blurry and limited by tears for him to be able to see the puppy’s face. All he did was writhe and wheeze loudly as he tried (and failed) to catch his breath, to calm himself down, his hand shooting up to the collar of his shirt to pull it and ease his airway somehow. It didn’t work. He had to calm down. It was crucial that he managed to calm himself down.

From where he was lying on the floor, desperately attempting not to suffocate, he could still see Grantaire’s blurry form on the bed. His foot was dangling limply off the edge. Enjolras wanted to push it back to the bed, somehow, but his limbs were heavy and he couldn’t move. Brownie’s barks became faint and distant, and black and white spots begun to dance in front of Enjolras’ eyes. His forehead throbbed dully, almost unperceptively. His lungs were burning but soon, even the pain became faint and foreign, as if Enjolras was miles away from himself. As if he was floating. That would explain the lightheadedness he was feeling. The only thing he could be sure of was a sudden pull on his stomach, as if his very being was being dragged away from his body. The last thing he could remember was hearing his own choked voice whispering a weak “I’ll do anything”, before his world became a big, dark nothing.

-

“Hey, you’re going to be late”, a familiar voice said. Someone poked his shoulder. He didn’t move.

“What’s wrong with him?”, another voice asked. Enjolras frowned in annoyance.

“I don’t know”, the first voice replied, and then its owned kneeled beside Enjolras. “Are you feeling quite all right?”

“If he isn’t on that stage in five minutes, things are going to get messy”, the second voice said, reprehension on its tone.

“Enjolras, wake up”, the first voice instructed, and this time, instead of a poke, his shoulder was shaken. “Come on. You need to wake up, now”.

Enjolras sighed, and that was the first surprise. His mind was foggy and sluggish, but the last thing he could faintly recall was suffocating. Except now, he could breathe again. Realizing this, he took in a deep, loud breath, repeating the action several more times until he was satisfied and on the brink of hyperventilating again. A hand squeezed his shoulder tightly, as if to ground him, and this was incentive enough for him to try and open his eyes, blinking in confusion and looking around as he waited for his eyes to regain focus. He looked up, in the direction of the voices he had heard, and saw Combeferre kneeling beside him, a worried frown in his face. Behind him, stood Joly, directing him with an equally reprehending look. It was too bright around them, sun glistening hot up in the sky, and he squinted his eyes to try and prevent them from burning.

“I told you not to sleep too late, didn’t I?”, Combeferre raised a judging eyebrow, amiably tapping Enjolras’ shoulder twice, in a lighthearted manner, before getting to his feet. “Did you even sleep at all?”, he asked, turning his back to the leader as he reached for something Enjolras couldn’t see. He merely stared at his best friend, still as a statue, only his eyes moving in their sockets as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

 The sun was out. The sun was actually _burning bright and hot at the top of the sky_ , which meant that there wasn’t a roof above his head. And that meant he wasn’t in his bedroom. He was, in fact, nowhere near his home. Finally daring to move, Enjolras lowered his head to find that he was sitting on the wooden floor of… something. He frowned in confusion, turning his head back up to stare at Combeferre questioningly and noticing the square far behind his friend. Startled, Enjolras jolted to his feet, spinning on his heels and looking around like a madman only to find himself to be right behind the supporting wooden column of a makeshift stage. Could that be…?

“Where are we?”, Enjolras asked, unable – and not bothering to – keep the horror from his voice. He could tell he was on the verge of hyperventilating again, and did his best to at least wait for his friend’s answer before he lost control of himself. Panic was welling up at the bottom of his stomach and he could feel his limbs go cold with fear. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be what he thought it was. Combeferre pointed him with a quick worried look and got up from where he was crouching on the floor, a confused frown appearing between his brow and a few papers scrunched up in his grip.

“Alright, since when have you not slept properly?”, he asked in a rather mother hen-ish tone, crossing his arms above his chest as if to look serious. “Because we talked about self-care, Enjolras, and I’d hate to have this conversation with you once again, it’s becoming really tiring and I feel like I’m trying to argue with a wall”. Instead of waiting for some sort of answer from Enjolras, he rolled his eyes and picked his backpack up from the floor, starting to sort some of the papers he was holding into a folder. Joly also rolled his eyes behind Combeferre.

“Look, I’m going to go ahead and check the sound again”, he said with an exasperated sigh that indicated that he was nervous.

“If you fuss with it again there’s a good chance you’ll end up screwing it up. Balance of probability”, Combeferre said absentmindedly, not even bothering to look up at Joly as he continued to go through the folder.

“First, I’m not Bossuet, so I won’t magically screw it up, second, I know what I’m doing”, Joly raised a finger. “Just get Enjolras back into his normal self in five minutes, for god’s sake”, and with a last brief worried glance towards Enjolras, Joly climbed the stairs that led to the stage and disappeared.

“He’s right, you know”, Combeferre noted nonchalantly, not raising his eyes from the papers. “If you don’t get to that stage in five minutes or less the crowd is going to wonder if there’s something wrong and get even more fidgety. We’re already twenty minutes late because of your last-minute power nap. I didn’t want to wake you up because you looked like you needed it, but we can’t delay the speech any longer”.

Enjolras screwed his eyes shut and covered them with the ball of each of his hands, taking deep, shaky breaths to try and calm himself down. He spun on his heels, facing away from Combeferre and trying to concentrate on the flashing bright formats swimming in front of his vision due to the pression of his hands against his eyes, rather than on the impossibility of the situation developing in front of him. He took a deep, calming breath and tried to figure out what was going on. Enjolras could feel sweat starting to blossom on his palms and brow, heart thumping madly inside his chest.

Ok. First things first. He needed to be logical. He needed to think. If he once again allowed himself to be overwhelmed by emotion – which, frankly, was probably the habit that resulted on his entire downfall – he would never figure anything out and would probably end up making everything worse, if that was even possible. Right. He had been at his bedroom. Grantaire had been… dead. Enjolras had had a panic attack and fallen off the bed. He probably passed out after that, due to either the lack of air or the pure shock of finding his dead boyfriend beside him on the bed. And then he woke up at a square, on the back of a stage. Combeferre and Joly seemed extremely unworried about the former events, which could only mean they didn’t remember or know anything about them. Still, it didn’t explain how Enjolras had ended up on that square, and what the hell he was doing there.

“Enjolras?”, Combeferre’s voice called him, finally noticing the breakdown his friend was going through, and Enjolras didn’t have to uncover his eyes to figure that the guide’s worried face was staring down at him, gaze fixed. “Ok, now you’re making me worried”, he added, and Enjolras could hear the shuffling sound that indicated that he was getting closer, probably noticing the harsh puffs of breath Enjolras was emitting while uselessly attempting to calm himself down. “What’s happening?”

Enjolras really didn’t want to be forced to go through the whole ‘I-swear-I’m-not-crazy-but-Grantaire-died-and-there-is-a-countdown-on-my-nightstand’ situation once again. He wasn’t sure he was emotionally fit to tell the whole tale of his past-month’s misfortune once again, and he particularly didn’t want to talk about the outcome of that. He didn’t have the time to explain everything to Combeferre, not if he truly was where he thought he was, and if anything, his current (probably deplorable) state would only make his tale even more unbelievable. Combeferre would probably assume he had been dreaming, or sleep-deprived, or stressed out. He would never believe Enjolras, not right now. So, instead, he decided to try and confirm that his assumptions about the current situation he was in were correct, not really caring whether he would end up sounding delusional or not. God knew Combeferre was the only person whose opinion valued to Enjolras, but right now, all that mattered to the leader was finding out what was happening and where Grantaire was.

“Where are we?”, Enjolras rubbed his ghastly face and looked up at Combeferre, the helplessness which was evident in the leader’s eyes only confirmed by the shakiness of his voice. He could feel his chest beginning to constrict again. What a sight he must have been.

Combeferre squinted his eyes and opened his backpack to put the folder away, before directing his whole attention to his best friend.

“We’re at the back of the stage”, Combeferre explained patiently, as if Enjolras was a 4-year-old. He tentatively raised his hand mid-way, as if going to check for Enjolras’ temperature, but changed his mind and reached for Enjolras’ elbow instead, as if to offer him support. “You fell asleep and lost track of time. You’re supposed to go up the stage in”, he took a look at his watch, “three minutes and you’ll still be kind of late. Are you feeling something?”, he said the last phrase with a frown. “Any physical discomfort?”

Could it be? Could Enjolras really have been sent back in time to the fatidic day of the protest which got Grantaire killed? How was this possible? How had he ended up here? Had his pleads for a chance of changing the course of things been heard? Had he been granted the last chance to save Grantaire from his crude fate?

Was Grantaire standing alive at the other side of that stage?

“Where’s Grantaire?”, Enjolras blurted out, not really thinking about what he said until the words had already left his mouth. He looked up at Combeferre with moist, hopeful eyes. Before this protest, Grantaire and he had never been very close. Enjolras would have never bothered to ask about him unless it was to check out the confection of a poster, or the development of a new logotype. It had been after Grantaire’s death that Enjolras’ affection developed, unfortunately, and for that, Combeferre comprehensively frowned at Enjolras’ apparently sudden interest for the cynic.

“I don’t know, I think he’s with Bahorel and Feuilly, something like that”, Combeferre explained, suspicion barely hidden in his tone. “Why? Did something happen?”

Then he was right. This was the protest where his whole nightmare started. But the protest hadn’t begun yet, which meant Grantaire was still alive.

Which meant Enjolras still had a chance of saving him.

“Enjolras, what are you not telling me?”, Combeferre urged, the gentle hand holding one of Enjolras’ elbows propping him. His tone was contaminated with blatant worry now, and Enjolras felt slightly bad for making his friend this distressed. “You’re shaking as a leaf and look like you’re going to pass out any moment now. Tell me what’s wrong”, he asserted in a way that didn’t leave room for a denial. But Enjolras couldn’t tell him. Not when there was so little time.

“We have to cancel the protest”, Enjolras blurted out the first solution his frantic brain came up with, out of pure instinct, looking up at Combeferre while attempting to put on his most serious, ‘I-am-not-joking’ face. Combeferre looked back at him as if he had grown a second head out of thin air.

“Cancel the…!”, he squinted his eyes, disbelief evident in his tone. “What are you even talking about? We’ve been planning this for four months, Enjolras, everyone is already here!”, he protested, sounding just the slightest bit exasperated, which was enough to tell Enjolras that Combeferre was on the verge of losing it. He was usually very calm and logical, handling tough situations with an almost professional stoicism, unless, of course, the matter at hand was Enjolras’ well-being. But Enjolras didn’t have the time to worry about _Combeferre’s_ worry.

“Yes, we need to call it off”, Enjolras continued, well aware of how daft and unlike himself he must have sounded. “This isn’t going to work, there are hostile, armed people hidden amongst the crowd and we will be endangering everyone in here by allowing this to continue”, he made a brief pause in order to take a deep breath, as if to prove that he was being rational and not ranting like a lunatic who just woke up from a nightmare (which, by the look in Combeferre’s face, must have been exactly what he had been thinking). It wasn’t very reassuring that the itching doubt of ‘what if I’m actually just crazy and the whole Grantaire dream was just a _very_ vivid dream’ appeared at the back of his head like a ghost. He shook his head as if to concentrate. “Just… we need to disperse the crowd before it’s too late”, he said, hating the way his voice sounded small despite of all the effort he was pulling to be natural. He needed to find Grantaire and to prevent him from dying, which he wouldn’t be able to do should his best friend think he was acting like a maniac. Combeferre stared at him unblinkingly for several seconds, as if trying to read Enjolras and understand what on Earth was happening.

“All right”, he finally said, but in a very weird tone. And then, rather than climbing the stairs up to the stage to do as Enjolras had asked, he reopened his backpack and fished out a bottle of cool water, which he promptly shoved at Enjolras’ hands. “Drink up. You’re on the brink of a panic attack”, he instructed, a hint of his previous worry overcoming his current annoyance, and only then Enjolras realized that he was making a terrible wheezing sound as he tried to catch his breath. He sounded like he was suffocating, and he pretty much felt like it either, due to the crushing weight of worry and helplessness pressing on his chest. With trembling, sweaty hands, he opened the bottle and took a gulp, attempting to calm himself down. Combeferre eyed him throughout the whole process, and once Enjolras closed the bottle and handed it back to him, he finally spoke again, a stern tone that didn’t leave room for unwanted discussions. “First of all, are you taking your medication?”

Enjolras sighed, impatient. He really did not have the time for this. He needed to get everyone, especially Grantaire, out of there before things escalated and turned worse.

“You know I’m not, I stopped taking my medication since –“, he trailed off, trying to remember. Through the rushing of his desperate thoughts of saving everyone from imminent doom, he couldn’t recall when he had stopped taking his meds, but it wasn’t like this mattered now. All that mattered was finding Grantaire, finding his friends and keeping everybody at the rally safe. “I don’t need it anymore”, he settled for saying, closing his eyes briefly and well aware of how ridiculous he sounded. Combeferre was probably thinking that yes, he really needed it, if the little show he was displaying was anything to go by. “I’m doing just fine”, Enjolras added more firmly, “but you really have to listen to me when I tell you that –“

“No, wait, wait, wait, you _clearly_ need it”, Combeferre interrupted, a disbelieving frown in his face. “Enjolras, you’re shaking all over. I am actually concerned about you”, he said, taking one of his hands to Enjolras’ elbow as if to sustain his weight should he sway on his feet.

“Then call off the protest and let’s go home!”, Enjolras clapped his hands together and held them above his chest almost pleadingly, staring at Combeferre with an unsaid begging in his eyes. “You can fuss after me there”, he added in the faint hope that Combeferre’s overprotective tendencies towards him would somehow persuade him into this. However, this only served to make Combeferre’s frown deepen even more.

 “What’s going on with you?”, he asked, a mixture of a huff and a scoff blowing off his nose. He shook his head as if Enjolras had suggested they set fire to the people in the crowd. “You’re not acting as yourself. We can’t just ‘call the protest off’; there are people out there who have been standing in front of this stage for the past hour waiting for you to make a speech! What would a stunt like this do for the reputation of the Amis?”

“Combeferre –“, Enjolras tried to no avail.

“No, Enjolras”, Combeferre continued seriously, hurt now showing in his face. Enjolras couldn’t recall ever seeing his friend look so disturbed. No, disturbed wasn’t the right word. Combeferre looked _angry_ , which was a sentiment that Enjolras had never had directed to himself before, at least not from his best friend. He swallowed dry. “I don’t know what just happened to you while you napped, but you need to snap out of it. These people skipped class, they skipped work to come here and protest with us today. We’ve been planning this protest and inviting people over for the past _four goddamn months_ , it’s not something we can simply call off. You and I, along with all the Amis, have been working hard and non-stop to make sure that our group could gain the recognition it deserves over the entirety of the past four years, and now you just want to throw it all in the trash for no reason? Sorry, but I will not allow you to do that. So, unless you tell me what’s going on with you right now and give me a _really good reason_ to call this protest off, I’ll be climbing this stage alone and delivering the speech by myself if that’s what has to be done”.

“No!”, Enjolras immediately protested, hating how impulsive the negative sounded. The only thing that would be worst to him than having Grantaire die on his watch, was having Combeferre die because of him. Plus, this wasn’t really Combeferre’s fault. For some unknown reason, he didn’t seem to remember all that had happened over the course of the past four months.

“No?”, Combeferre raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Enjolras swallowed hard. He couldn’t exactly tell Combeferre the whole truth on that moment without sounding mental, but he couldn’t let him go on the stage in Enjolras’ place either.

“What’s taking so long, guys?”, Joly’s voice called from the top of the stairs, an annoyed frown in his face. He seemed to be crouching down at the edge of the wooden floor so that the pair could see him from the bottom of the stage. “We’ve got to start this now. People are suggesting starting the march already and skip the speech. Enjolras, are you ready? You have to come now, or they’ll go without us”

Combeferre turned to look at Enjolras, his eyes asking him the same question. Are you ready? Will you do what needs to be done, or will I have to do it for you?

“Be there in a second”, Enjolras shouted back at Joly, managing to keep his trembling voice somehow under control and giving him a nod. The young doctor must have noticed the terrified paleness of his face, for his eyes lingered above Enjolras’ trembling frame for a few moments longer than necessary before his head finally disappeared beneath the edge of the stage.

“Can you do this, Enjolras?”, Combeferre asked, but now his voice didn’t sound as inquisitive as it had been a few moments before. It sounded almost sympathetic, as if his concerns were for Enjolras’ clearly nervous state, rather than the outcome of the rally.

“We shouldn’t”, Enjolras shook his head, eyes planted on Combeferre’s expectant face, sincerity flooding his tone. “This will turn against us. I can feel it”, he said ominously. The reasons behind his _apparent_ intuition would have to be explained later, when he and Combeferre weren’t standing at the back of a square in the middle of an upcoming riot-gone-wrong.

“Enjolras, there is a police force surrounding the east of the stage”, Combeferre reassured him, a hand finding Enjolras’ shoulder and squeezing it. “Be easy, my friend. I understand you must be afraid for the people’s safety, but it will turn out all right. Trust me. There is no reason for anyone to wish us harm, we don’t even have that much public recognition yet”.

“I trust you”, Enjolras choked out, voice almost breaking. He could feel tears raising to the corners of his eyes and he quickly blinked them away without a second thought. Hiding his tears and his guilt had become a habit during the past month of his life, but it didn’t mean it was any easier. “But it will go wrong”, he added with a whisper.

“We can’t just allow the government to raise the retirement age and deprive workers from their rights like that”, Combeferre shook his head sadly, a new firmness covering the previous sympathy in his eyes. He looked almost fierce. “We need to do something. Unfortunately, no revolution in history has ever been peaceful. You know how much I disagree with this, and how much I hate having to recur to violence, and we don’t have to. No, we _don’t_ ”, he reinforced, when Enjolras shook his head. “This is just a march, a protest. You just have to deliver a speech and then the people will march for their rights and maybe, if we make enough of a difference, we can change things for the better. We can reinsure a better future for ourselves, for our people, Enjolras. We can reinsure their freedom. Can there be greater thing?”

“Combeferre…”, Enjolras tried once again, but his tone was already defeated. He knew there was no way out of this. If he refused to go up the stage, Combeferre would go in his place, and would end up endangering himself. He wouldn’t be able to call off the protest by himself, and would end up looking like a lunatic. None of his friends would listen to him. There was only one thing left for him to do.

“I will gladly deliver the speech in your place, if you are feeling unwell”, Combeferre told him, a sad smile in his lips. They both new that, out of all the Amis, Enjolras was the only one who could truly incite love and passion amongst the hearts of the crowds. Combeferre’s words were inspiring, yes, but as effective they were, they lacked Enjolras’ capacity to stir _something_ in the crowd, something that made them jump into action and follow him. Enjolras was the leader, Combeferre was the guide. That was the way it always had been. But he would gladly take this burden upon himself, were Enjolras unwilling to do so.

“No”, Enjolras sighed in resignation, heart tightening inside his chest. There was no way out of this. He would have to deliver the speech, if only to buy enough time for Grantaire to leave the protest. Maybe if he changed strategies, maybe if he did something differently from before, he could prevent the tragedy that had happened the first time. He was re-living this protest again only so that he could change things, right? Maybe if he used the right words this time, he could contour the situation. Speaking, after all, had always been his one true talent. “I’ll deliver the speech”, he continued, nodding as if to reassure himself of that decision. “But, please, Combeferre, you have to promise me something”.

“What is it?”, Combeferre asked, worry once again erupting in his eyes.

Enjolras swallowed dry. He wouldn’t ruin the reputation of the Amis by cancelling a protest that was already settled up, with people waiting anxiously for his speech to be delivered. He wouldn’t allow the government to keep abusing the people and depriving the workers from their rights. He wouldn’t allow injustice to continue overwhelming their country.

But he wouldn’t allow Grantaire to die, either.

“Please”, he begged again. The uncommonness of the situation – Enjolras rarely begged – probably made Combeferre realize that this was a serious matter, and his eyes suddenly sharpened, all his attention focused on what his best friend was about to say. “I need you to do something for me. I need you to find Grantaire, and take him away from here”. There was a pregnant pause.

“Why? Did he do something?”, Combeferre asked, frowning.

“Just… do this for me. Please”, he begged again, tears still prickling at his eyes. “Please, promise me you will make sure that he is away from here. By any means necessary”, he reinforced.

“But I am supposed to be on the stage with you”, Combeferre retorted, confused.

“I know. But Courfeyrac will be there. And Joly”, Enjolras sighed, blinking rapidly. Combeferre noticed his distress.

“Will you please tell me what this is all about?”, he asked, clearly forcing himself to sound patient. “You look to be on the verge of tears. I’ve never seen you this disturbed before, Enjolras, and it’s making me really scared, so _please_ tell me what’s going on”.

Enjolras lowered his head grievously.

“I will, I promise I will”, he squeezed one of Combeferre’s hand into his. The thought of having to explain the whole impossibility of the situation to his best friend once again sent a sad smile up to his lips along with an unwanted sense of nostalgia. “But we don’t exactly have time to do that right now, do we?”

Combeferre chuckled at that, even though it sounded unsure, and so did Enjolras, but both laughs sounded wrong. Constricted, somehow. Heavy. Burdened.

“Fine, I’ll take Grantaire out of here, but you’re going to have to explain everything to me once we get home, ok?”, Combeferre raised an eyebrow, tone making him sound like a comprehensive parent. “Here, take these”, he handed Enjolras the folder with the papers about the protest, neatly organized, and the half-drunken bottle of water.

“Thank you, Combeferre”, Enjolras said, heart feeling heavy on his chest as he made his way to the stairs leading to the stage. Combeferre, on the other hand, made it to contour it, heading towards the crowd to find Grantaire as Enjolras had requested.

“Now you go up there, you’re already late”, Combeferre urged him with a smile, waiting for Enjolras to climb the stairs. Suddenly, Enjolras was overwhelmed with the desire to cry. For some reason he couldn’t really understand, this felt like he was seeing Combeferre for the last time. And before he knew better, the words had already left his mouth.

“You know I love you, don’t you, Ferre?”

Combeferre’s smile faltered for the fraction of a second and he frowned at Enjolras, a puzzled look in his eyes. Enjolras – or, at least the Enjolras that Combeferre knew so far, the Enjolras who hadn’t been scarred by death and loss and unimaginable alternate realities – was rarely vocal about his feelings. Combeferre knew his best friend loved him, that much was obvious from the years they knew each other, but the only occasion Enjolras had actually said the words had been when they were both drunk a few months before.

“Don’t talk like that”, Combeferre said worriedly, giving Enjolras an apprehensive frown. “We’ll be seeing each other soon. As soon as I get R out of here, I’ll meet you back up at the stage, ok?”

Enjolras smiled sadly. He had a dreadful feeling that wasn’t really going to happen, but tried not to show it or dwell on that idea.

“Okay”, Enjolras said instead. He turned his back to properly climb to the stage at the same time Joly’s head reappeared at the edge, ready to scold at them, but before he could get to the top and finally put an end to Joly’s – and everyone else’s – impatience, the leader heard his friend calling out for him from below.

“Hey, Enj”, he said, and Enjolras turned his head to look. “I love you too”.

-

Enjolras definitely wasn’t ready for the roaring sound of the crowd or the overwhelming amount of people standing at his feet. His ears rung and his eyesight blurred, but he still walked his way up to where Courfeyrac and Joly were standing, doing his best not to stumble or demonstrate weakness. This faintly reminded him of the tango contest he had been in just two days before, except the audience had tripled in size and he was the presenter, rather than the contester. This sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine, but as he marched his way to where his friends were waiting for him, he flexed his hands and took deep breaths in an attempt to ease the cold knot in his stomach. The crowd needed the Enjolras who was a leader right now, and not the Enjolras who was anxious and afraid. He owed them as much.

“What the hell took you so long?”, Courfeyrac asked abruptly as soon as Enjolras got within ear range, but took a step back as soon as he got a closer look at his friend. “Jesus, you look horrible. What happened?”, he inquired, blatantly exasperated in a way only Courfeyrac could muster.

“I’m fine”, Enjolras said absentmindedly, handing him the bottle of water without a second thought and opening the folder Combeferre had given him. He didn’t feel fine and most definitely _didn’t look_ fine, from the way his hands were still shaking as he checked through the papers and documents in his hands, but Courfeyrac was tactful enough to notice that Enjolras wouldn’t indulge further on the subject and dropped it. Joly, however, was for once less subtle than Courfeyrac, which was probably an unprecedented fact.

“You don’t look fine”, he stated, his trademarked worried frown blossoming in his forehead. “You look like you’re on the verge of panicking”.

“I said I’m fine”, Enjolras snapped, immediately regretting it from the hurt look Joly sent him. He sighed, shoulders dropping. He was stressed, anxious and he definitely didn’t want to deliver a speech. All he wanted was to make sure Grantaire was safe. But he had to do it. He had to speak, to give Combeferre enough time to ensure Grantaire’s escape. _And also, to stir the people into fighting for their rights_ , a primordial, more instinctive part of his brain supplied. “I’m sorry, Joly”, he immediately apologized for his abruptness. “I’m just a bit nervous, that’s all. I’ll be ok”.

Joly didn’t look like he believed it for a second, but sharing an apprehensive look with Courfeyrac, they silently agreed to let the subject drop. It wasn’t uncommon for Enjolras to be tense and irritable before protests or large speeches like this one; maybe Joly was just overreacting. But again, Enjolras was unusually late and fidgety, which was enough to sustain at least a part of Joly’s worries.

“Ok, if you say so”, the young doctor lowered his eyes. “Where is Ferre, though?”, he frowned, looking around and not finding the man.

Enjolras subtly turned his eyes towards the impatient crowd, which was growing larger by the second. After spending a few seconds running his eyes amongst the different faces staring back at him, he finally found the familiar mop of curls he had grown to love so much, and his heart leaped inside his chest.

Grantaire was there. A few meters away from Enjolras, below him, breathing, speaking, alive. He had an ugly, angry frown on his face and was gesturing widely at the stage, Combeferre’s hands on his shoulders as if to calm him down. Grantaire was yelling something that was unintelligible due to the distance, and Enjolras merely stared as he threw his head back and laughed that ugly, self-deprecating laugh of his. Combeferre looked almost desperate, a worried pleading in his eyes as he attempted uselessly to ease Grantaire. Then, suddenly, the cynic turned his head and his eyes locked with Enjolras’.

All breath seemed to be brutally expelled from Enjolras’ lungs and he gasped way too loudly for his liking, blood draining from his face and racing towards his painfully frantic heart with a jolt. Grantaire’s eyes were alive and blazing with something akin to fury and hurt, his cheeks were rosy, and despite of the distance between them, Enjolras thought he could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Grantaire seemed suddenly embarrassed by the amount of time he spent staring into Enjolras’ unbreakable gaze, and Enjolras remembered with a tinge of pain that Grantaire had no memories of the past month. To Enjolras, he was his boyfriend, but to Grantaire, Enjolras was still the man who didn’t reciprocate his feelings and did nothing other than reprimand him constantly during meetings. Before Enjolras could even compute the mixed feelings erupting in his chest, Grantaire turned his eyes away and, after angrily snarling at Combeferre, turned on his heels and disappeared among the crowd, towards the other edge of the square.

Enjolras let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’ been holding, and closed his eyes for a few seconds. It pained him to see Grantaire go angry like that, but it was for the best he went as far away as possible from this protest. Enjolras could catch up with him later, anyway.

He would rather have Grantaire angry than dead.

He’d have to rebuild his relationship with the man from nothing. He’d have to convince Grantaire that he loved him, that he had feelings for him, even though these feeling had developed over the course of a month that no longer existed.

Dread suddenly dawned over Enjolras. Was there a possibility that he would return to that reality? Could it be that one day he would wake up and Grantaire would be dead again?

What if he was dreaming?

His hand immediately reached for his own arm and he pinched at it, twisting the flesh as painfully as he could. Nothing happened.

Not dreaming, then.

“You okay?”, Courfeyrac asked from behind him, and Enjolras took in a deep, harsh breath. He merely nodded, resuming his fidgeting with the papers in his hands and finally straightening his spine, standing tall and as fierce as he could.

“Yes, I am. Let’s do this”, he told Courfeyrac, who still looked incredibly suspicious and squinted his eyes a little bit.

“Uh, right, then”, he frowned for the slightest of seconds. “Let’s do this”, he mimicked Enjolras’ words.

And then, despite all the tension that was eating him alive and making his heart ache, Enjolras was slowly overwhelmed by something that gave place to rationality and calmness just as it usually happened when he delivered speeches. The anxiety that had been bottling up in his stomach and making him nauseous subdued into a background noise as words of justice and truth urged to be spilled from his lips. Enjolras could feel the adrenaline that public speaking brought course through his veins, and he relished on it. In the same moment his lips approached the microphone clutched in his hand, and as soon as the first words made it past them, Enjolras felt some of the weight he had been holding dissipate and be replaced by the thrill of the moment. Grantaire was gone from there and safe. He was delivering a speech against injustice and unfairness. He was finally, _finally_ doing things right after a whole month of feeling guilty and useless. He was keeping Grantaire safe. He was making a change.

Suddenly, at the light of the stirring crowd agreeing with his every word, the fear he had been feeling from the moment he woke up seemed foolish and unfounded. These people agreed with him. They were nodding, throwing fists in the air and shouting words that demanded justice. With Enjolras’ every word and punctuated statement, they cheered, clapped and shouted. This renewed a hope that had been buried inside Enjolras for a month. This made him feel whole again, useful again. He was doing what he was born to do. He was stirring hope into the hearts of his people. Combeferre was there, in the middle of the crowd, looking up at him with pride in his eyes. Enjolras’ heart fluttered, not with fear, but with passion. His eyes regained their life and his lips curved upwards to form a smile. He was finally feeling like himself again.

Of course, that was when all went to hell.

He had been too distracted in his own euphoria to realize that people on the far back of the crowd were pushing the people at the front, soon making everyone bump into each other, the situation only aggravated by the limited space of the small square. The policemen overseeing the protest fidgeted into life, noticing the increasing disturbance of the mob. Enjolras, however, high on his relief for keeping Grantaire safe and delivering a successful speech at the same time, only noticed that there was something wrong when the first gunshot echoed across the square.

There was a terrifying, split second in which everything quieted. Everyone froze, Enjolras included, and just like the calm before the store, the silence didn’t last for long before the first screams started. Enjolras was glued to his feet as his mind tried and failed to compute what was happening, and his hands instinctively raised the megaphone in his grip back towards his mouth, his primary instinct being to shout words of peace to try and calm the desperate people at his feet.

But that had been exactly what got Grantaire killed in the past.

Something took him over and he dropped the device with a loud clattering sound, immediately turning on his back to face Courfeyrac and Joly, who were both looking at him with frightened eyes, unsure of what they should do.

“Get out of here!”, Enjolras shouted as loudly as he could over the sound of the screaming mob attempting to get away. Another gunshot ringed and made him instinctively flinch, doubling over himself as if to try and find protection even though he was in the open, and the sound seemed to be enough to urge some life back into his friends’ feet. They ran towards the stairs that led to the back of the square, and Enjolras followed them closely.

He could remember clearly what had happened the first time. He had attempted to get the crowd to calm down, ignoring Grantaire’s desperate pleas to run away, and that foolishness resulted on the man’s death. He wouldn’t allow any of his friends to get hurt because of his stubbornness this time.

“Not through the back!”, Enjolras panted loudly, when he saw that was the way Courfeyrac and Joly were heading to. That had been the way he and Grantaire headed to the first time, and that was where the shooter would be waiting.

“What?”, Courfeyrac frowned, halting to a stop as he heard Enjolras’ words. The only logical safe way out of the mess their protest had become was through the back of the square, where less people were running towards. If they tried to go through the front, they would end up getting trampled by the panicking mob.

“It’s not safe, follow me!”, Enjolras shouted, waving a hand at his friends, and without a second thought, they followed him. It was only natural for Enjolras to lead, and all the Amis trusted him with their lives. It would be nearly impossible to get through the hundreds of people agglomerating in a frenzy because they were all attempting to get away at the same time, but Enjolras wouldn’t risk the lives of his friends. The police was trying to disperse the panicked crowd before they could do something rash, using gas bombs and pepper spray, rather than doing something useful such as pursuing the shooter, and this only made it harder to see through the burning fog and the stumbling people. Enjolras was primarily concentrating on opening a path for Courfeyrac and Joly to follow him when the doctor’s voice made him freeze and turn around.

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?!”, Joly yelled, and Enjolras, with some level of difficulty, followed his gaze only to see Grantaire standing at the middle of the abandoned stage, by himself, frantically looking around for someone in the crowd and cupping his hands around his mouth to shout something that suspiciously sounded like Enjolras’ name.

“No”, a dread-filled whisper was all Enjolras could hear, air leaving his lugs as if he had been punched in the stomach. Without thinking, and rather instinctively, he turned around and started to bump his way through the crowd, right back from where he had just came, towards the stage, just at the same time Grantaire climbed down the stairs and disappeared as he headed towards the back of the square.

“Enjolras, what are you _doing_?”, Courfeyrac screamed, grabbing at the leader’s arm, but not managing to keep a hold of it, since Enjolras yanked it away from his friend’s grip. “Enjolras? Enjolras!”, he shouted as Enjolras passed him as if he was invisible. He tried to reach for him again, but the mob surrounding them were still moving desperately and thus, forcing the friends to move at the opposite direction from Enjolras. It was as if they were being dragged by a sea current.

“Enjolras, get the fuck back here!”, Joly yelled angrily, attempting to follow him, and failing. Enjolras kept marching his way towards the stage, his pace increasing with speed with each step and, the further he approached his destination, the more roughly he pushed people out of his way, as if getting to Grantaire was the most important thing he would ever do in his life.

“Enjolras, come back, you said yourself it’s not safe there!”, Courfeyrac shouted, desperate to get his friend to listen to him. But his words were lost to the leader, who kept going unfazed, as if Courfeyrac was invisible. In fact, Enjolras seemed to be unbothered by the presence of all of the people bumping into him, eyes glassy and afraid as he kept going through the crowd as if that was the last thing he would ever do.

Grantaire, on the other hand, had stupidly assumed Enjolras had made the rational choice and headed out to the back of the square. He didn’t know what was waiting for him there, and Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat at the thought that he was about to lose his life because of him again.

Not this time.

As soon as Enjolras made his way through the last of the suffocating mob, squeezing himself between the frantic people and bumping into them, he got to the back of the square, panting to regain his breath. However, he had no time to waste, and continued to run while his eyes madly searched for Grantaire. It didn’t take him to long to see him.

Grantaire, however, remained ignorant of Enjolras’ presence mere meters behind him, still looking madly around and shouting the leader’s name. As Enjolras broke into a run towards Grantaire, he vaguely wondered why the hell the man didn’t leave the protest. He didn’t know what Combeferre had told Grantaire, but it hadn’t been enough to make him leave. It hadn’t been enough, and Enjolras should have known that. He should have known that Grantaire, stubborn as he was, wouldn’t have simply left. He never did. He was stupid to think Grantaire would actually obey him for once.

“Grantaire!”, Enjolras called, still trying to catch up with the cynic despite of the burning in his legs and the lack of air in his lungs. “R! Grantaire!”

Despite of the several scattered people that had found their way to the back of the square and were still running to get away from the scene, Enjolras’ shouting called the attention of a particular man at his left. Then, everything happened at the same time.

Grantaire, hearing the calls for his name, finally stopped and turned around, finding Enjolras and gazing at him through his pants. At the same time, Enjolras noticed the man to his left and turned his head to lock eyes with him, unaware of Grantaire watching him as he halted his frantic run and came to a stop, frozen to his feet in shock. Enjolras watched, unmoving, as the man, upon seeing him and realizing who he was, raised his hand, gun tight on his grip. Time slowed down.

Enjolras brain was rushing with a thousand thoughts per millisecond. If he got any closer to Grantaire, Grantaire would be in danger. They both stood at the square, panting heavily and meters apart from each other. Somehow, this distance felt grander.

The man was aiming his gun at Enjolras. He had been his target the whole time. Not Grantaire. Never Grantaire. Grantaire had never been the one supposed to die in the first place. It had been Enjolras, always Enjolras, from the very beginning.

He would make things right.

The distance between Enjolras and Grantaire was too great for the cynic to be harmed by any attempt against Enjolras’ life. Even if Grantaire wanted to take the bullet in Enjolras’ place, like he had done before, he wouldn’t be able to cross the remaining distance between them to get to the leader in time.

Grantaire, who was still oblivious as to why Enjolras had stopped running all of a sudden, and who didn’t understand why Enjolras had called his name only to face the opposite direction, frowned and turned his head to look at whatever the leader seemed to be staring at. Enjolras finally tore his eyes away from the shooter’s cold gaze and turned his head to face Grantaire, if only for one last time. The turning of his head was synchronized with Grantaire’s dreadful realization of what was about to happen. He watched sadly as the cynic’s eyes widened in subsequent fear, and locked his green, sorrowful eyes with the man’s grey, desperate ones just as Grantaire broke into a frantic run towards him, arms flailing widely back and forth as if to give him impulse, as he attempted to reach his full speed in order to get Enjolras out of the way before the bullet hit him.

The shooter tightened his grip on the gun and his finger reached for the trigger.

“ENJOLRAS!”, he could hear Grantaire scream, his voice raw and hoarse from the sheer desperation that was overcoming him. The loud, piercing voice of the man he loved filled and echoed across the square exactly one second before Enjolras heard the popping sound of a gun going off.

It might have been his imagination, but he was pretty sure he could hear the sickening sound of the bullet piercing his flesh and his blood spluttering from the fresh wound. An animalistic scream that sounded like a prolonged “NO!” echoed across the square, from somewhere in to his right, and then, everything went silent under the high-pitched ringing sound that had immediately taken over his ears.

Everything was perfectly still for a moment until the floor beneath Enjolras’ feet decided to tilt and his surroundings became a blurred mess until suddenly, all he could see was the blue sky above him. He didn’t even compute the pain of the gunshot wound on his torso until his body connected harshly with the floor, making a piercing white agony blossom in his belly instantly. He wasn’t even sure where he had been shot, because every single part of his body was screaming in pain. He thought he may have cried out, but he couldn’t be sure, since his senses didn’t seem to be working properly anymore. There was the muffled sound of a shout coming from what he thought to be his left (he couldn’t tell anymore), and then shuffling. Years of torturing, piercing, invading pain passed before there was warmness by his side. It was relieving to feel the warmness sip through his skin, because he had grown very cold very suddenly.

Someone propped him into a somewhat sitting position and the movement alone sent such a great pain across his torso that he blacked out for a few moments. It was the gentle tapping of a hand against his cheek that roused him from the slumber, and he whimpered miserably as the piercing agony in his stomach didn’t go away. There was a hole ripped through him, oh god, oh god, oh god. He tried to look up to see who was propping him up but all he could see was a blot that barely resembled a face. His vision was blurry and swimming, and Enjolras wanted nothing more than to sleep.

“No, no, no, you have to stay awake”, Grantaire told him, voice thick with tears, and oh, right, of course the warmness invading him was Grantaire’s. He let out a subconscious sigh of relief – he would never, ever have wanted to put Grantaire into the position of having to watch him die, but he was selfish enough that he didn’t want to die alone. At least his R was there with him, holding him close, but the thickness and blatant hurt in his voice made Enjolras’ heart break a little. The irony of the situation made Enjolras suppress an ugly chuckle.

“Creative”, he choked out his answer in pain instead, ending up sounding harsher than he had intended. His throat felt very dry and speaking demanded more effort than he was prepared to make. Grantaire held him tighter.

“Don’t talk”, Grantaire ignored his banter and carefully lied Enjolras down on the floor, proceeding to kneel beside him and pressing a hand against Enjolras’ wound, hard. The leader screamed, trashing weakly, legs kicking violently despite of himself and attempting to get away from the touch. “Shh, shh. I know it hurts, but I’ve got to stop the bleeding”, Grantaire tried to reassure him, one hand splayed at Enjolras’ chest and the other pressing down on the gunshot wound. Enjolras squirmed, eyes shut tightly in pain, and he could no longer feel his fingers, even though they were lying on the top of Grantaire’s warm hand, the one which was uselessly attempting to cover Enjolras’ wound. Everything was so cold and painful.

Had Grantaire felt like this, back when he had been shot?

The thought that the man he loved had undergone such pain made Enjolras sob, which only disrupted his injury further. He trashed once again, attempting to get away, but he soon found that Grantaire’s grip on him was strong and he wasn’t letting go. Plus, it was not as if Enjolras could move much further anyway, weak as he was.

“Listen to me, you fucking idiot”, Grantaire told him, anger and sorrow mixed equally in his tone. His voice was an octave higher due to his desperation, and the tone was stained with fresh tears. “You’re going to lie still and you’re going to stay the fuck awake, you hear me? You ain’t fucking dying on me, Enjolras”.

This finally earned an ugly laugh from Enjolras, which only made him wince in pain as a stab shot through his stomach. He could faintly feel a warm pool of liquid growing beneath him, and wondered if that was his own blood.

“What’s so funny?”, Grantaire asked angrily, holding one of Enjolras’ shoulders with one hand to hold him steady against the concrete.

“Grief response”, Enjolras coughed wetly, wincing, but still allowing a pale smile to tinge his lips as he did his best to find Grantaire’s face through his dazed, glassy vision. His speech was becoming more slurred with each second, and it was harder and harder to muster the energy necessary in order to form words. Still, he gave it one more try, because these were probably his last moments ever with Grantaire and he didn’t want his last words to be ‘grief response’. “People… don’t react differently. To grief”, he groaned in pain, squinting his eyes closed and frowning in pain. “You’re no’ an angry griever. You’re a gentle one. Which means you’re hid’ng your fear ben’ath aggress’on b’cause you’ afraid I won’t… reciprocate… feelings…”, he trailed off with a tired sigh.

Thinking back to it now that he had already spoken the words, Enjolras realized how absolutely delusional he must have sounded. But, even if Grantaire didn’t remember the past month, Enjolras did, and he could perfectly recall the way Grantaire had reacted when he had been attacked at the other protest. Grantaire had been worried, and gentle, and sweet. He hadn’t been angry or aggressive. To Enjolras’ pain-filled, blood-deprived brain, this could only mean that Grantaire was hiding his worry for Enjolras beneath aggression because he didn’t believe Enjolras loved him back. Of course, why would he believe such a thing? None of what Enjolras had lived through the past month had actually happened. Grantaire didn’t know or remember Enjolras feelings.

“What?!”, Grantaire asked, clearly – and understandably – confused.

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his tongue was dry and refused to obey him. He vaguely thought that he must have looked pretty stupid, mouth hanging open uselessly like that. He was beginning to doze off again, the pain on his torso becoming more of a distant, background ache than a proper burning of his very soul, but then:

“Why the fuck didn’t you move?”, Grantaire suddenly snapped, no longer able to contain his tears. The pain came back to Enjolras at full force along with his consciousness, and he couldn’t help but to gasp. Grantaire’s breath hitched in his throat as he spoke, voice shaky and terrified. He must have become to cry while Enjolras was dozing off. Enjolras blinked the tears away from his eyes, doing his best to focus on Grantaire’s face. His vision was still blurry at the edges, but he could now clearly make out the pained expression in the cynic’s face. “You saw the man was gonna shoot you, Enjolras, so why the fuck didn’t you move?”, he asked, wailed, voice so thick with tears that Enjolras could barely understand what he was saying, but maybe it was just the blood loss and the constant ringing of his ears. Grantaire chuckled, but it sounded more like a heavy sob, and continued his rant in a meek attempt to keep Enjolras conscious. “I always knew you had a fucking death wish, but dying in the arms of a cynic in the middle of an empty square ain’t gonna do much for your reputation as a martyr, so stay fucking awake and don’t you dare close your eyes”, he ordered, harsher than necessary. Enjolras’ subconscious epiphany that the cynic was using aggressiveness to hide his pain made more sense now, and for a moment, he felt sorry for forcing Grantaire into the same horrible situation he had been through in the past himself. If Enjolras was to die, Grantaire would suffer immensely. This wasn’t what Enjolras had wanted. He had wanted to save Grantaire, and keep him safe and happy and-

“Oh my god!”, a familiar voice sounded from somewhere, somewhere Enjolras was no longer able to recognize. ”No, god, no! Oh my god!”, the person approaching kept yelling, and then Courfeyrac’s disturbed face entered Enjolras’ fuzzy field of vision.

“Move!”, Joly shouted, and then Grantaire was shoved away from where he was kneeling at Enjolras side by the doctor’s experienced hands. Joly then went full into doctor mode, face stern and emotionless as he pulled Enjolras’ shirt up to reveal the wound and biting his lower lip as he outstretched a hand towards Grantaire. “Hoodie. Now”, he instructed simply, and Grantaire immediately removed his hoodie and passed it over to his friend, who promptly shoved it against Enjolras’ wound, even harder than Grantaire had. Enjolras trashed again, weaker this time. His legs kicked faintly and he arched his spine despite of the pain. “Hold his legs”, Joly told Courfeyrac, voice trembling ever so slightly. “Calm him down”, he told Grantaire in the same tone.

“I already called the ambulance but I don’t know where they are, they were supposed to have fucking arrived already –“, Grantaire begun to say, and Enjolras frowned. When had the man called an ambulance, and hadn’t he heard it? The rest of Grantaire’s rant went unheard by the dying leader, who was becoming too lost in his mind’s fuzzy thoughts to pay further attention.

But then Grantaire was behind Enjolras again, propping him up so that Enjolras’ back was resting against his chest, in a very similar way he had done when Enjolras had a panic attack after he first confessed his love. The thought made something inside Enjolras’ chest flutter, and he even managed to ignore Courfeyrac feebly pining his legs against the floor as he raised his head to look at Grantaire, who had completely broken down of his angry façade and was now looking more desolate than Enjolras had ever seen him.

“Don’t speak”, Grantaire told him gently but in a broken voice when Enjolras opened his mouth again. His cheekbone was leaning on the crook of Grantaire’s neck and he felt warm, warm enough that his eyelids became heavy and threatened to drop close at any moment, but he made a special effort to fight exhaustion only if he could look at Grantaire for a few more moments.

“’m sorry”, was all Enjolras managed to choke out, and speaking those mere words alone was enough to make squirm in pure agony again. The only reason he didn’t kick was because Courfeyrac was still holding his legs, sobbing loudly in desperation and frantically calling Combeferre’s name, even though Enjolras couldn’t recall Combeferre being anywhere near them.

“I’m here”, Grantaire told him, and the raw emotion in his voice made Enjolras sob again. He couldn’t help it. He had meant to save Grantaire, not to make him hurt again. And he looked so hurt. Enjolras wanted nothing more than to raise his hand and gently wipe his tears away, but he found he couldn’t move his arm. He felt cold and detached from his own body.

“Cold”, he managed to whisper through his raspy throat, and Grantaire pulled him closer, enveloping him in his arms.

“I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you”, Grantaire whispered back, a hand gently brushing a wayward strand of hair from Enjolras’ brow. Enjolras smiled softly.

“I’m glad i’ wasn’t you”, he whispered, panting heavily due to the increasing pain in his stomach. Joly put more pressure against his wound, and he let out a long wail of agony.

“Stop being ridiculous”, Grantaire sobbed heavily, face scrunching up in despair and pain. His grip tightened around Enjolras’ chest. “I’d rather it be me than you, any day”.

“No”, Enjolras shook his head, tilting it so that his nose was buried against Grantaire’s neck. He inhaled the man’s scent and sighed, remembering the pain he had felt upon losing Grantaire twice. “No. Don’t do tha’ to me”. _Not again_ , he kept himself from saying.

His head was growing fuzzier and the edges of his vision were darkening at an alarmingly fast rate.

“Don’t say nonsense, Enjolras”, Grantaire choked out quietly. Joly put even more pressure, but it didn’t hurt as much as it should have. Actually, the fact that the pressure didn’t earn any reaction made Joly even more nervous. Enjolras vaguely wondered if he was too close to dying.

“’m dying”, he whispered softly, fat tears running down his ghastly pale face. Grantaire immediately shook his head in denial.

“No, you ain’t. I won’t let you”, he rested his chin on the top of Enjolras head, looking up at the skies as if making a silent plead to a god he didn’t believe in.

“’m sorry, R”, Enjolras whispered. If he wanted to reassure Grantaire, he had to do it now, because if felt like wasn’t going to last much longer… “Really am”.

“Bullshit”, Grantaire responded, sounding angry and hurt. “You could have moved. Why didn’t you?”

“He… would’a hit you”, Enjolras tried to explain, slurring the words as his tongue refused to obey him. “Couldn’t let’im”.

Grantaire didn’t say anything, only sobbed harder. Enjolras wanted to comfort him more than anything, but he could barely see Joly’s face anymore. Everything was so dark.

“Open your eyes, you fucking moron”, Grantaire instructed, despair evident in his voice, which had raised again. Enjolras tried to blink his eyes open, only managing to lift his lids halfway. “What did I fucking say about sleeping?”

“Sorry”, he choked out again, feeling wetness on his chapped lips. His breath was growing shallower by each second, and his eyes slipped shut once again. “Sorry, R, ‘m sorry”.

“You can apologize to me later when you’re making a full recovery at the fanciest hospital bed your pompous white boy’s money can pay for”, Grantaire said, in such a Grantairesque way that made Enjolras chuckle, despite of the fading pain in his abdomen.

“I love you”, Enjolras blurted out without really thinking about it.

What could he say? It was the truth. It felt natural to tell Grantaire that, after weeks of doing so. He didn’t even consider the weight these words had on the cynic – after all, Grantaire didn’t remember anything that Enjolras had lived throughout the past month – until he looked up at him through his glassy eyes and saw the man staring down at him, a shell-shocked look in his face. He was staring down at Enjolras with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, brow furrowed in something that could only be described as terror, a look that would have been almost comical if Enjolras hadn’t been bleeding to death in his arms.

And then, before Grantaire could even think of something to say, or before the ambulance arrived, before Enjolras could apologize once again for hurting Grantaire’s feelings by forcing him to watch his death, the coldness and the exhaustion became too much to bear and he allowed his eyes to slip shut for good. And before anyone could try to rouse him, all sound around him faded away and his body went limp in Grantaire’s grasp, head lolling uselessly to the side.

-

There was an annoying beeping sound above his head, which was probably what woke him up from the comfortable blackness he had been emerged in.

He didn’t open his eyes straight away. He didn’t think he could, even if he had wanted to. The lids were too heavy and he was still too exhausted. Before the memories could emerge from his conscious mind and force him to properly wake up, Enjolras gladly let go and allowed himself to be pulled back into oblivion.

The next time he woke up, he did open his eyelids, but just because it was some sort of natural instinct to him. He found this to be a terrible decision, however, for the piercing white light that invaded his eyes made his head ache and his vision burn. He must have made some sort of distressed sound, like a hiss, for soon there was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly, and a straw was being guided to his mouth. Without opening his eyes, which he had instinctively squeezed shut, Enjolras eagerly sucked at the straw, relishing when cool soothing water made its way down his throat. After he was satisfied, he carefully allowed his head back down against the pillow, sighing. He wasn’t really aware how much time had passed before he reopened his eyes, frowning.

“There you go”, a familiar voice – _Ferre_ , his mind provided – told him, barely above a whisper as if aware that Enjolras’ senses were oversensitive to stimuli. He was faintly thankful for the thoughtfulness, something that only Combeferre could muster. “Are you with me?”, his best friend asked gently, as if not wanting to pressure Enjolras into staying awake. But something told him that he had slept enough, and he forced himself to stay awake, if only to find out what was going on. He couldn’t really recall much.

“Ferre”, Enjolras managed to croak out, flinching at how rough his voice sounded. He swallowed dry before turning his head slowly to look at his friend, blinking a few times before his vision finally focused. Enjolras frowned upon realizing that Combeferre looked positively _wrecked_.

His eyes were red rimmed and puffy, there were dark circles underneath them and his hair was disheveled and greasy. His glasses were nowhere to be seen, his face was presenting a sickening paleness and he looked unhealthier than Enjolras had ever seen him. He was too high on painkillers to realize that his little trip to the hospital was the reason Combeferre looked like that, and so he dumbly asked, voice still dragged and slurred:

“What happened to you?”

Combeferre stared at him in sheer disbelief for several seconds before throwing his head back and chuckling, the sound so maniac that Enjolras actually thought that he was losing his mind for a second.

“You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me”, Combeferre said, an ugly, broken smile on his lips that didn’t quite match his tear-filled eyes, and the fact that he had just so blatantly and so naturally swore showed that his friend was in worst shape than he first thought. Combeferre never swore, unless he was in a state of complete distress.

And then, confirming Enjolras’ badly-formed theory, Combeferre buried his face in his hands and started to sob.

Enjolras terribly wanted to comfort him but didn’t know how to, and so far the only movement he managed to make without exerting himself to unconsciousness once more was lifting his hand and taking Combeferre’s into his, squeezing it.

“You bloody idiot”, Combeferre sniffed, apparently doing his best to regain his composure and squeezing Enjolras’ hand back. He didn’t bother to wipe away the tears streaming down his face, but he finally laughed, truly laughed, not that broken sound he had just emitted in a failed attempt to hide his tears. “What were you even _thinking_?”, he asked, and in a click, Enjolras remembered.

The hint of a smile that had been growing in Enjolras’ lips disappeared as memories flooded his head, not only of what had happened, but of _everything_. Grantaire’s death, the countdown, the confession, the tango, the death, the shot. Everything. He gasped, and Combeferre must have realized that he was remembering, for he placed a gentle hand back on Enjolras’ shoulder before he could try to get up from the bed. Enjolras looked at his torso, finding it to be covered with the hospital’s bed sheet, and then he turned his head to look at Combeferre, face pale and terrified.

“Grantaire”, was all Enjolras whispered, as if the name alone was enough for Combeferre to understand what he wanted to know. However, this Combeferre didn’t know of Enjolras feelings, because he hadn’t had the time to discuss the subject yet, and merely blinked blankly at his best friend.

“Yes, we are definitely going to talk about _Grantaire_ later”, Combeferre raised an inquisitive eyebrow, as if sharing an internal joke with Enjolras. “But for now, you should rest. It hasn’t been even a whole day since you got out of surgery, you need to rest in order to recover –“

“No”, Enjolras frowned, shaking his head, and immediately regretting it when it made him feel dizzy. “Where is R? Is he safe?”

Combeferre bit his lower lip at this, looking away from Enjolras. That was enough for the leader’s heart to speed up, and the beeping sound above his head quickly caught up with Enjolras’ erratic heart rate. Why wasn’t Combeferre telling him anything? Was Grantaire hurt? Was he ok? Had he saved him?

“Enjolras!”, Combeferre said, worried upon hearing the frantic sound of Enjolras’ heart monitor, and trying to find out what was the source of his friend’s disturbance. He got to his feet, madly looking over Enjolras for some sign of distress.

“Where is Grantaire?”, Enjolras asked, voice constricted by the lump in his throat. Combeferre stared at him in disbelief.

“Jesus, Enjolras, he’s fine, he’s ok”, Combeferre reassured with a grumpy expression, as if he couldn’t quite believe Enjolras was freaking out over Grantaire. The thought made the leader a little offended.

“Where _is_ he?”, Enjolras insisted, panting, heart slowing down to a normal pace now that he was reassured that his cynic was fine. Combeferre threw his head back, sighing loudly in defeat.

“He’s in jail”, he explained, and as if sensing that Enjolras would freak out at this information, immediately pinned him down gently to the bed. “Calm down”, he instructed. “Let me explain”.

“In _jail_?!”, Enjolras asked, horrified, heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

“If you don’t calm down, I will call your doctor and tell her to sedate you”, Combeferre threatened, and recognizing the truth behind his friend’s threat, Enjolras took a deep breath, attempting to calm down. His torso had begun to ache, and he was feeling light headed and tired, but he would never be able to sleep until Combeferre explained himself. “That’s better”, the guide crossed his arms above his chest and tilted his head. “First of all, you should be resting, so I’m going to explain what happened and then you are going straight to sleep, no discussions. Secondly, Grantaire is in jail but you shouldn’t worry about it, because Bahorel is already taking care of it. It won’t be too hard to get him out, though the felony will stay in his record. Baz was pretty pissed off that he was actually forced to act as a lawyer, but they should both be ok, so if you could please stop grinding your teeth”, he sighed.

Enjolras immediately relaxed his jaw, not even aware that he had been grinding his teeth. He felt heat climbing to his face and pretended he wasn’t blushing. Combeferre rolled his eyes affectionately.

“After the man shot you, and before he could get to you, Grantaire knocked him out to stop him from running away or hurting anyone else”, Combeferre explained, sounding tired. “He went to your side then, but after you passed out and the ambulance took you away, he completely _lost it_. Joly tried to stop him, so did Courf, but he almost knocked them out as well”.

There was a pregnant pause in which Enjolras merely stared up at Combeferre, fear and hesitation clear in his eyes.

“He beat the man who shot you into a pulp”, Combeferre explained. “The guy barely made it out alive. The cops took him to a hospital, where he’s being kept under surveillance, and arrested Grantaire. He was supposed to face trial, but Bahorel says he can get him out of jail without much complication. Apparently, there were cameras somewhere near the square that caught everything that happened. He’ll claim self-defense”.

Enjolras swallowed dry, staring blankly ahead of him. Grantaire was in jail, for beating up the man that had shot Enjolras.

The man that had killed Grantaire himself, in the past.

“Don’t think I won’t want to know what’s going on with you and Grantaire, Enjolras”, Combeferre said seriously, never taking his eyes off the leader. “You have _a lot_ to explain. But for now, you are going back to sleep”, he said simply, in a tone that didn’t leave space for a discussion.

There wasn’t much Enjolras could say just yet, just think. He tried to imagine Grantaire, who was so great at boxing and martial arts, punching and kicking an unconscious man half to death. He tried to picture the rage in his eyes, the fury on his face. He tried to picture the blood spurting out of the man’s mouth as Grantaire assaulted him until he was forced away by policemen. He tried to imagine Grantaire, handcuffed and alone in a dark, cold jail cell, not knowing whether Enjolras was alive or not.

Enjolras faintly reckoned that he had been pretty lucky to survive in a way Grantaire didn’t. His last conscious thought before allowing Morpheus to claim him once again was that maybe, just maybe, his death would have ruined Grantaire more than Grantaire’s death had ruined him, if the man had managed to get himself into jail before Enjolras even got to the hospital was any proof to go by.

-

“Just because your surgery was successful and you’re about to be cleared out of here, that doesn’t mean you can fool around like an idiot, so get back to bed before I give you a good reason to stay there”, Combeferre growled, and Courfeyrac raised a surprised eyebrow.

“You get mean when you’re worried”, he commented, giving Combeferre a shit-eating grin when the guide glared at him. Enjolras, who was pouting in the bed, arms crossed and staring at the opposite wall, said nothing. “Oh, come on, stop sulking. I thought we had gotten over it. He’s _scared_ , Enjolras”, Courfeyrac added, rolling his eyes. Enjolras huffed out a breath.

“I thought we had agreed not to talk about it anymore”, Combeferre said, gentler than before.

“Enjolras won’t talk about anything else, we might as well give the boy what he wants and discuss his crush”, Courfeyrac shrugged.

“Well, Enjolras isn’t talking. At all. Your strategy is failing miserably”, Combeferre commented grumpily with an eye-roll.

“You two are the biggest pair of grumpy bears I have ever seen, gee”, Courfeyrac got up from his chair, pacing around the hospital room.

“Leave him be. It’s just a matter of time before they figure themselves out”, Combeferre sighed, taking up Courfeyrac’s previous seat and opening his philosophy book. In no time, his face disappeared behind it.

“Yeah, but this time it’s taking longer than usual”, Courfeyrac shrugged again, idly playing with a flower at Enjolras’ bed stand.

“Can you please stop talking about it”, Enjolras finally spoke up, voice neutral, eyes never leaving the spot on the wall he had been pretending to stare at for the past fifteen minutes.

“Only if you stop sulking about it”, Courfeyrac offered him a sincere, heartfelt smile, which was verging expectant. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“I’m not sulking”, he noted, finally tearing his eyes away from the wall and staring at his own feet instead. “I’m just… upset”.

“Oh, so what, you confessed your love for Grantaire as you died in his arms, then he got arrested for beating up the man who tried to kill you and hasn’t showed up to visit you ever since he got cleared out of jail. Get over it”, Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, dropping at the edge of Enjolras’ bed and toying with the leaders curls idly, clearly bored. “I’m pretty sure the two of you will go off to make out and having babies as soon as you first lay eyes on each other, so quit whining about it. Long-distance sexual tension is more than I am willing to put up with after all of this”.

“Courfeyrac”, Combeferre said with a warning, raising his eyes from the book in his hands only to glare briefly at Courfeyrac before turning back to his reading.

“What? I’m just saying the truth. It’s how it always goes with the two of you”, he shrugged, guiltless. “You argue, you push each other away, and then you go back to bickering as soon as you see each other. It’s what you do”.

“Except this time it wasn’t a fight”, Enjolras pouted even more, crossing his arms above his chest in a child-like manner.

“Oh, god, not this again”, Courfeyrac whined, dropping into a lying position across Enjolras’ bed, near his feet.

“I mean it. I’m afraid I pushed him away for good”, Enjolras said grievously. Maybe he shouldn’t have rushed and confessed his feelings for Grantaire like that, but he hadn’t been thinking straight. And now it had been almost two weeks since Enjolras was first taken into the hospital, and Grantaire hadn’t visited him even once. If Enjolras was to be honest with himself, he felt hurt by Grantaire’s coldness. He couldn’t find a little time in his busy schedule to visit his injured friend? Enjolras missed him terribly and Grantaire’s willing absence broke his heart.

Maybe he blamed Enjolras for having his criminal record stained with aggression. It would certainly make it harder for him to get a good job. Maybe his feelings for Enjolras hadn’t fully developed like they had in the other reality Enjolras had lived for the past month, and confessing himself made Grantaire feel pressured and consequently lose any sort of affection he may have held for the leader. Maybe Grantaire simply didn’t want to see him. Didn’t miss him. Didn’t care about him.

But deep down, Enjolras knew none of those alternatives were true. Courfeyrac was right, Grantaire was probably afraid. If Enjolras knew him well, he was probably feeling guilty for not taking the bullet in Enjolras’ place, and didn’t quite know how to face the man after Enjolras’ dying confession. Grantaire had never been particularly good at dealing with his own feelings with straightforwardness, but it didn’t mean his absence didn’t bother Enjolras. The lack of the cynic’s presence for two weeks felt like a growing ache at the back of his heart.

Surely, none of his friends were making it any easier for him. After the fright that it had been almost losing Enjolras (Combeferre told him that his heart had stopped once on the way to the hospital and that he had barely made it), the brand new subject everyone was talking about was Enjolras and Grantaire. Joly and Courfeyrac had heard Enjolras confessing his feelings to the man, and the Amis didn’t even wait for the leader to get out of the operating table before discussing about it. Enjolras could only wonder if Grantaire was going through the same type of treatment as he was.

Explaining where his feelings for the cynic had come from hadn’t been easy as well. He couldn’t exactly tell his friends that he had spent the past month living in an alternate reality of an alternate reality in which Grantaire died and then came back to life and then died again. It sounded like bullshit, even to himself. So he told the truth, but in a very omitted way. He told them that he had developed feelings for Grantaire over the course of the past month, and that he had hidden it away in fear of not being reciprocated. He told them that he had a dream that the protest would go wrong, which was why he had been so frantic about taking Grantaire away. This part was a lie, and sounded ridiculous, but still less ridiculous than the actual truth was. He only told them half-truths that were neither lies nor complete facts, either. And taking in consideration that Enjolras was still recovering in a hospital bed hooked up to all sorts of wires that none of them but Joly could fully comprehend, they allowed the subject to drop.

Except for Courfeyrac, of course. He was the one who kept insisting on getting to know about Enjolras and Grantaire’s still inexistent love life.

“Do you masturbate thinking about him?”, he had asked Enjolras one day, making the leader blush and Combeferre hiss a reprehending “Courf!”

“What? It doesn’t hurt to ask. By the way, do you even masturbate at all?”, he had insisted, making Enjolras groan and hide his face with his pillow, before throwing it at Courfeyrac’s face.

“Leave Enjolras alone”, Combeferre had said with only half of his attention.

“Do _you_ masturbate?”, Courfeyrac had wiggled his eyebrows at Combeferre, who proceeded to throw his book at the man without saying a word.

So despite of the lightheartedness with which Courf always attempted to address the subject, it was driving Enjolras mad. It hurt him enough to lie around doing nothing without being able to even see Grantaire, and it didn’t help much when the cynic kept being mentioned to him on a daily basis.

When Enjolras was finally allowed out of the hospital after two weeks and a half, with a whole leaf of paper filled with medicine prescriptions and a one-way ticket to Combeferre’s guest bedroom (which was not up to discussion), he thought things would become easier. He genuinely thought that Grantaire would turn up at his first day in his best friend’s apartment, looking for him and wishing to talk things out. Despite of Grantaire’s obvious awkwardness regarding having to talk about his feelings, he had always been better at that than Enjolras. And if Enjolras was this desperate to talk, then Grantaire must be too, right? Maybe they would be able to talk their feelings out and actually be rational for the first time in their lives.

But that didn’t happen. Grantaire never showed up.

The only news he ever heard about the cynic reached him through Joly, who, being the worried angel he was, updated Enjolras daily on Grantaire’s routine. He always attempted to explain that Grantaire was afraid, and exhausted, and in need of rest, but his excuses never got much through Enjolras, specially because if any of them were supposed to be exhausted, that person was Enjolras.

He missed Grantaire. He needed him. He loved him more than anything, he had taken a bullet for him, and then the man went off and simply proceeded to pretend Enjolras didn’t exist. It hurt. It hurt almost as much as being shot.

The truth was the last Enjolras had ever properly seen of Grantaire had been the man lying dead in his bed. He had spotted Grantaire from afar at the protest, and talked to him while bleeding out in his arms, but he hadn’t been in his right mind at neither occasions and ever since Grantaire died for the second time, Enjolras hadn’t had the chance to tell him how much he actually meant for him. He hadn’t had the chance to hug Grantaire, or to kiss him, or to just look him in the eye without fearing for both of their lives. And yes, maybe this Grantaire wouldn’t want Enjolras in that same, romantic way, but still, the leader would be contented with a simple handshake. A nod. A tapping on the shoulder. An acknowledgment of his existence. Anything. _Anything_.

Which is what found Enjolras standing in front of Grantaire’s shared flat at 5 a.m. on a Tuesday morning, rapping at the door and not actually feeling guilty for waking Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta up. When a yawning Bossuet opened the door and frowned in what seemed to be utter repulse at Enjolras, the leader offered him a forced smile.

“Hi, Bossuet, fancy seeing you here. How are things?”, he greeted way too enthusiastically for a person awake at 5 a.m.

“I live here”, Bossuet explained with confusion, still looking at Enjolras as if the man had two heads.

“Good to know”, he continued nonchalantly. “I need to speak to Grantaire, so if you would be so kind to excuse me. Thanks”, he said the words fast, in one single breath, thus not offering one single opportunity for Bossuet to offer any sort of response, especially because it was 5 a.m. and his brain probably wasn’t working properly. He stepped inside the apartment without waiting for Bossuet’s permission, extremely aware of how rude and impolite he was being, and headed straight to Grantaire’s room, knocking on the door twice and crossing both of his arms behind his back as he waited patiently for the cynic to answer, while simultaneously resisting the urge of bursting the door open with his bare hands.

“Enjolras, I don’t think –“, Bossuet was saying behind him, but before he could finish his sentence, the door to Grantaire’s bedroom was yanked open abruptly.

“Why in the fucking hell are you waking me up at 5 a.m., is the fucking flat on fi– oh”, he stopped himself abruptly as soon as he spotted Enjolras standing at his door, a desperate looking Bossuet behind him pointing his best friend with an apologetic look. Grantaire stared blankly at the leader, and if his eyes widened just the slightest bit, Enjolras didn’t notice.

“Hi”, Enjolras said, all the previous courage and decidedness he had been feeling before vanishing within the blink of an eye. He was reduced to an anxious, shy mess at Grantaire’s door.

“Hi”, Grantaire said back after a few seconds of hesitance, swallowing dry and clearly forcing his voice out. He stared at Enjolras with parted lips and an increasing flush on his face.

He looked tired. Exhausted, even, but it could probably be either because he hadn’t been sleeping properly, or due to the fact that Enjolras had just woke him up at 5 a.m.

“We need to talk”, Enjolras gathered enough courage and forced himself to continue, staring up at Grantaire with something akin to defiance in his eyes. He wanted to hug Grantaire. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to touch him and feel his warmth and make sure he was really alive, standing in front of him. He just wanted to reach for him, do anything, damn.

“Um… sure”, Grantaire said, frowning slightly for the faintest of seconds before stepping to the side as if to allow Enjolras into his bedroom.

“Ah, man, I’m gonna go back to bed”, Bossuet sighed with resignation, slightly annoyed. “After you two figure your shit out, try not to have sex too loudly. We’re trying to sleep here, ok?”, he casually pointed to his own bedroom, before turning and disappearing inside it, the door closing with a click. Grantaire blushed a deep shade of red, but Enjolras paled. The scar on his torso throbbed, and he promptly ignored it, hesitating by the doorframe for a couple of seconds before finally stepping into Grantaire’s room.

The room was nowhere near to the tidy place Enjolras had visited in the past. There were shirts thrown all over the floor in clear dismay, the curtains had been drawn close for god knows how long, and the place smelled of humanity and dust. He couldn’t help but to wrinkle his nose at the thick scent, but did his best to hide it. Grantaire seemed very nervous and not sure as to how he should behave around Enjolras, so the leader decided to put his own nervousness aside for Grantaire’s sake and sat down at the edge of the man’s bed, uninvited, just so that Grantaire wouldn’t have to be in the position of considering inviting him in the first place.

“So…”, Grantaire started, scratching the back of his neck and not meeting Enjolras’ eyes. “What did you w-want to talk about?”, he asked, clearly hesitating, and if it wasn’t for the darkness inside the room, Enjolras would have been able to see the deep blush that was spread across Grantaire’s pale cheeks.

“What do you think I wanted to talk about?”, Enjolras raised a single eyebrow at the cynic, well aware that at least his own face was being illuminated by the light coming from the hallway outside the bedroom, even if Grantaire’s wasn’t. Inside, his heart was thumping madly, and anxiety was tying his stomach into knots, making him slightly nauseous, but he wouldn’t – couldn’t – let it show. He and Grantaire had been delaying this conversation for too long, and Enjolras couldn’t take this anymore. He had long resigned himself that, even if Grantaire didn’t want anything to do with him, they should still at least discuss what had happened when and after Enjolras got shot. He supposed he could eventually come to do without Grantaire’s love, but the one thing he couldn’t deal with was Grantaire’s coldness.

 “I don’t know”, Grantaire shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “You’re the one who showed up at my door at 5 in the morning wanting to talk, so spit it out”.

He was standing awkwardly in front of Enjolras, looking like he didn’t quite know what he was supposed to do with his own arms. He settled for folding them in front of his chest as he leaned back against the wall in front of the bed, waiting for Enjolras to say something.

“Why didn’t you go visit me at the hospital?”, Enjolras blurted out, because as much as he tried to pretend that wasn’t the case, Grantaire’s absence had hurt him a lot. Back when Enjolras was assaulted by those men in the other protest that never happened, Grantaire had slept in the hospital’s uncomfortable couch with him. He had waited by Enjolras’ bedside until he was well again, he had even stood up against his father. The worst thing about the hospital stay hadn’t been the idle time he was forced to spend there, or the pain, or the food, or the nurses. The worst part was waiting for Grantaire every single day, hoping that he would show up for a visit, and having his hopes crushed at the end of each day.

At least, Grantaire had the decency to look even more embarrassed at Enjolras’ question, and he politely looked away as he answered.

“I did go visit, once”, Grantaire explained in a small but honest voice. “But you were asleep”.

“When?”, Enjolras frowned.

“As soon as I got out of jail”, Grantaire sighed. That had been one day after Enjolras had properly woken up, which meant he was still high on pain meds most of the time and slept for hours straight throughout the day. Which was why he had probably missed this alleged visit.

“No one told me you came”, Enjolras noted, unable to keep a hint of suspicion from his voice.

“I asked them not to”, Grantaire sighed, definitely looking away from Enjolras now. The latter’s frown deepened.

“Why would you do that?”, Enjolras asked, hating the way his voice sounded exasperated. He didn’t want to pressure Grantaire.

Grantaire, however, chose to stay silent, lowering his head and staring at his own feet instead. Even though he was hidden by the shadows of his own bedroom, Enjolras could see how tense his shoulders seemed to be and how his breaths were coming out in small puffs as if he was incredibly nervous. He hesitated for a few tense and silent moments, before finally getting to his feet. He didn’t approach Grantaire, opting to give him space, and instead stayed by the bed, a few feet away from the man.

The tense silence between only stretched with each breath, and upon realizing that Grantaire wasn’t about to say anything else, Enjolras once more took the weight to do so upon himself.

“I’m sorry if this whole situation made you uncomfortable”, he started, eyes never leaving Grantaire’s silhouette. In the past, Enjolras might have been unable to look him in the eye while being honest about his own feelings, but after everything, _everything_ that Enjolras had been through the past weeks, taking his eyes off Grantaire was the last thing he wanted to do. While he had been stuck in the hospital, by himself and doing nothing, all he dreamed about was escaping that place and finding Grantaire, holding him in his arms again and keeping him close. But he knew that he couldn’t do that, he knew that Grantaire didn’t remember, and that he would have to take things slowly if he ever wanted to earn Grantaire’s love again. But he just couldn’t take it anymore. He had to tell Grantaire everything he was feeling, he had to at least try to. Being silent about his own emotions no longer seemed to work for him. Thus, he continued: “I’m sorry if saying what I said before I passed out made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that you beat up a man and got filed because of me. I’m sorry for all of this. I just…”, he sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry if I put an impassable gap between us, if I ruined things forever. I just wanted you to know that this was never my intention, and that I wasn’t thinking straight when I said what I said”.

Even in the darkness, Enjolras could clearly see the way that Grantaire’s face turned into a pained frown. He shifted his weight between his feet, as if considering his next words.

“So you didn’t mean it when you said you loved me?”, he asked hesitantly, almost unsure. Enjolras immediately gaped in shock at the accusation.

“ _What_? No! Of course I meant it!”, he immediately protested, sounding indignant. How could Grantaire think that? “Is – is this what you got from everything I just said?”

It was Grantaire’s turn to look confused and defensive, for he finally unfolded his arms and splayed them beside his body as if to prove a point.

“You’re the one who just apologized for it and told me you weren’t in your right mind when you said it!”, Grantaire retorted.

“Because I thought it had made you uncomfortable!”, Enjolras replied, never quite shaking the indignant, aggressive tone off his voice.

“Why the fuck would it make me uncomfortable?”, Grantaire basically chuckled, as if that idea itself was ridiculous.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’ve been clearly avoiding me and pretending I don’t exist ever since it happened?!”, Enjolras raised his eyebrows at Grantaire.

“You think _that’s_ why I’ve been avoiding you?”, Grantaire took a step back.

“So you admit you’ve been avoiding me”, Enjolras smirked victoriously.

“I never denied it, Apollo”, Grantaire snarled, but there was a hint of a teasing smirk in his lips.

“Don’t call me that”, Enjolras protested, a forgotten anger beginning to bubble up inside his stomach.

“What do you want me to call you, then? My friend? My _boyfriend_? What do you expect from me, Enjolras?”, he spat venomously, almost as if he wanted to hurt Enjolras’ feelings to make him give up and drive him away. But Enjolras wouldn’t fall for that. He had used that same trick too many times.

“I don’t expect _anything_ from you, Grantaire, I only wanted to apologize for making you uncomfortable, since I obviously assumed that this was the reason you didn’t even bother to check whether I was alive or dead after I was shot in the gut!”, Enjolras retorted, and only after the words left his lips he realized that he had been yelling. Grantaire stared back at him as if he had been stabbed.

“You don’t think I care?”, he asked, his voice so much lower and smaller in comparison to Enjolras’ that the contrast sent shivers down the leader’s spine. His rational mind was begging for him to shut up, to keep his cool and not to end up hurting Grantaire even further, but despite of his best efforts, he heard himself say:

“It doesn’t look like you do”.

There was another tense, long silence in which they just stared at each other, panting, and frustrated and overflowing with raw emotion. If Enjolras closed his eyes and ignored the increasing throb on his gunshot scar, he could pretend these were the old times, in which all they did was discuss and shout and insult one another.

But then a bed-haired Joly marched his way down the hall, entered the room unceremoniously, looking like he was about ready to bring death upon the two of them, grabbed both Grantaire and Enjolras by their arms, dragged them out of the bedroom and into the living room forcefully, yanked the front door of the apartment open and threw them outside with little regard for their current state. Before any of them could think of anything to say or do, he slammed the door closed at their face. A few seconds passed in which them both merely stared in shock at the closed door, shocked, but then Joly yanked the door open once again, only to throw a pair of shoes at Grantaire and money at Enjolras.

“Get! Your! Shit! Together!”, he yelled at both Enjolras and Grantaire, punctuating each word with a poke to Grantaire’s chest before reentering the apartment and slamming the door at their face again, this time even louder.

A long time passed in which neither of them dared to speak a word or to look at each other, and Enjolras’ heart thumped madly inside his chest at the prospect of not knowing what to do next. He hesitantly turned his head to look at Grantaire, who was wearing nothing but pajama pants and a fading Green Day T-shirt. He was in no state to go out, but Enjolras didn’t care because: 1. It was 5 a.m. on a Tuesday and 2. This was Grantaire. The cynic threw the shoes Joly had tossed him on the floor and stepped into them, sighing loudly.

“I don’t suppose he’ll let me in any time before ten”, he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Joly becomes the devil when he doesn’t sleep properly”.

“I can relate to that”, Enjolras sighed, feeling easier about the lighter path their conversation was heading to.

“Wanna go grab some coffee? There’s a shop around the corner which is probably open by now”, Grantaire raised an eyebrow, but it was probably at himself, since he was still not looking at Enjolras. Enjolras nodded briefly.

“Yes. That would be nice”, he agreed, because an opportunity to talk alone – or to talk at all – to Grantaire seemed like a rare thing these days, and he wasn’t about to throw it away. They began to walk down the hallway side by side, but never touching each other. There was at least half an arm’s length of distance between them, and it was driving Enjolras mad. It was only after they climbed down the stairs and reached the first floor that Grantaire spoke up.

“So, how have you been feeling?”, he asked, but it sounded more out of politeness than anything else.

“Hm?”, Enjolras hummed, not sure what Grantaire meant.

“Does it still hurt?”, Grantaire nodded at the general direction of Enjolras’ belly.

“Oh”, he exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. It mostly doesn’t hurt, but sometimes I get some spikes of pain if I double over the wrong way”.

“That sounds awful”, Grantaire commented, but the words sounded hollow and lacked his usual interest. Enjolras hated this. He’d rather go back to yelling, than to have Grantaire talk to him like he was a complete stranger.

“It isn’t as bad as I made it sound, actually. I mean, the pain isn’t too strong, it’s more of a discomfort. And it sort of reminds me that I’m still alive”, he shrugged. For some reason, this made Grantaire finally turn his head to look at him, a puzzled look in his face as if Enjolras was the most mysterious man he had ever encountered. “What?”, Enjolras instinctively said, upon Grantaire’s prolonged gaze.

“It’s just…”, he blinked rapidly, as if in doubt. “I don’t know what it feels like. I’ve never been shot”, he explained. Enjolras could feel his stomach twist and nausea rose to his throat.

“Well, let’s be thankful for that”, he said with a smile, attempting to make his voice sound as neutral as possible.

They arrived at the coffee shop – which was already open just like Grantaire had predicted – in silence, and Grantaire quickly took note of Enjolras’ preferred order and grabbed the money Joly had given them before walking over to the counter and asking for two coffees. The barista, a young girl who couldn’t be older than 20, looked hungover and exhausted, and Enjolras decided that it would be better if they took their incoming discussion somewhere where they wouldn’t bother more sleepy people. As soon as Grantaire returned with their orders, he held the door of the coffee shop open for the cynic, who eyed him warily before sighing and walking through it.

“Where to, Apollo?”, he asked, sounding resigned and tired. Enjolras clicked his tongue.

“I thought you were the one who knew Paris like the back of your hand”, Enjolras retorted, taking a sip of his fuming coffee. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Grantaire eyed him for a long moment, and Enjolras pretended not to notice. Finally, the cynic chuckled, shaking his head, and took a sip of his own coffee.

“Right. There are benches in front of a river a block away from here. We could sit there to have your so wanted talk”, he said, already beginning to walk off but politely waiting for Enjolras to keep up.

“I’ve already said everything I wanted to”, Enjolras shrugged, not looking at Grantaire. “But yeah, we can go there”.

The walk to the river took less than five minutes, but still, they were the longest five minutes of Enjolras’ life. Grantaire wasn’t saying anything, and neither was he, and even before the fatidic events that led to Grantaire’s death and all that happened after that, never had they been so tense and silent around each other. Grantaire was the perfect example of a loud-mouth, he wouldn’t be able to shut up if his life depended on it. Enjolras wasn’t one to keep quiet himself, were he around people he felt comfortable with, debating things that he found important. Now, it felt like both men were acting like copies of themselves, because being silent around each other was something that Enjolras and Grantaire were guaranteed to never do.

They arrived at the benches and sat in as much silence as they had walked in. Enjolras took another sip of his coffee, enjoying the warmth that the hot cup was sending to his fingertips, and sighed loudly.

“Do speak up”, Grantaire said, upon hearing Enjolras’ sigh. He was staring straight ahead, at the water from the river which was just beginning to sparkle with the new rays of sunshine that were starting to appear in the horizon.

“What do you want me to say?”, Enjolras asked, following Grantaire’s gaze and admiring the beauty of the shining water. Grantaire gave him a humorous scoff, taking a long sip of his coffee before replying.

“Something that I don’t want to hear, probably”, Grantaire shrugged.

“I don’t understand”, Enjolras said after several seconds of ponderation, finally turning his head away from the river and taking in Grantaire’s outstanding profile at the sunrise.

“You really don’t know why I’ve been avoiding you”, Grantaire said, and it wasn’t a question. Enjolras nodded briefly, lips forming a thin line.

“I don’t. And it’s been bothering me, because despite of everything that happened, I’ve always considered you a friend”, he explained with sincerity.

“Even with our fights?”, Grantaire asked sarcastically, a smirk tinging his lips as he turned his head slightly to the side so that he could look at Enjolras through his peripheral vision.

“Even with our fights”, Enjolras nodded seriously.

Grantaire’s smirk dropped and he sighed, defeated. He turned away from Enjolras once more, placing his coffee cup on the bench beside him (but away from Enjolras) and leaning over, so that his elbows were resting on his knees. His hands fingers were intertwined with each other, and he nervously cracked his knuckles a few times before he finally found himself ready to speak.

“I couldn't face you after what happened because it should have been me”, he started, but before he could even think of continuing, Enjolras stepped in.

“No, it shouldn’t”.

Grantaire turned to face him, truly face him, as if he was actually offended that Enjolras dared to interrupt him. Despite of this, Enjolras didn’t allow himself to be intimidated into apologizing, because what he said was true. It shouldn’t have been Grantaire, it should have never been him. He sustained the cynic’s gaze, unaffected.

“What exactly is the point of me, if not to protect my friends?”, he asked, looking like the question was meant to throw Enjolras off. However, this Grantaire wasn’t used to dating Enjolras for a month. Enjolras, on the other hand, was used to dating Grantaire, and he knew what the man was doing. He was trying to use his self-deprecation as a shield, to diminish himself and his worth and make Enjolras confirm it. He wouldn’t fall for it.

“You are a gentle, kind, well-humored man who has much to add to the world and it’s not your obligation to protect anyone. You’re not my bodyguard, you’re my friend”, Enjolras explained patiently. Grantaire’s face fell, as if he hadn’t been expecting that sort of answer.

“I don’t add anything to your cause”, Grantaire attempted, scowling at himself. “The least I could do is try and keep you guys safe”.

“Like I said”, Enjolras replied simply, nonchalant. “Not my bodyguard. You’re not demanded to do anything as a condition to stay inside our group, Grantaire. We let you in because we love you, not because you’re giving us anything in return”.

A pregnant pause.

“So you do love me?”, Grantaire asked, and Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat at the smallest sprinkle of hope that appeared inside of Grantaire’s eyes _. Yes, yes, **yes** , you stupid man, I love you so much that I would give my own life to keep you safe, can’t you see that_?

“Yes”, Enjolras replied, his voice sounding breathier than he had intended. “Y-yes, I do”, he added, unable to keep the nervousness from his voice. He swallowed dry, and it took most of his will to not look away from Grantaire’s face.

“Since when?”, Grantaire asked, sounding unsure. Almost defiant. As if he was making a test to decide whether Enjolras was telling the truth.

What could Enjolras say? He had fallen in love with Grantaire over a month before, but that had been in another life, in another universe that, inexplicably, impossibly, didn’t seem to exist anymore. Enjolras was still not quite sure of what had happened, of why he had been forced to undergo all those painful events that resulted in this, but the only thing he could think for the time being was about how grateful he was that Grantaire was alive and safe without a death sentence looming above his head, even though things seemed to be a bit more complicated now. He couldn’t tell Grantaire that he had loved him for a month, because that wouldn’t be true in this reality. He couldn’t tell him he had loved him for two weeks, either, because he had loved him for longer. If he was being honest, Enjolras couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Grantaire, he couldn’t know what it was that turned his guilt into passion and his passion into love. Grantaire was asking him a question that demanded a long – a too long – explanation, one that he wouldn’t be able to properly give during one morning at one bench in front of the river.

“Do you want me to be honest?”, Enjolras ended up asking, because he owed Grantaire that much.

“Always”, Grantaire swallowed dry, looking almost afraid.

“I’ve loved you since forever”, Enjolras said, almost hating how cheesy it sounded, but staying firm in his words because he knew they were true. To him, his love for Grantaire was sempiternal, was intrinsic to him. It may not have always been knowable to Enjolras, it may have been dormant inside him for longer than he would have liked, but now that he felt it, he could no longer denied it. He loved Grantaire. He loved him, he loved him, he loved him. With every beating of his heart. With every fiber of his being. He loved him.

But Grantaire chuckled.

Upon seeing the hurt confusion at Enjolras’ face, the laughter died on the cynic’s face, and he frowned. Enjolras blinked and lowered his head, unable to hide how much Grantaire’s scorn for his feelings had hurt him.

“Oh my god”, Grantaire whispered in horror. “You’re serious”.

Enjolras looked up at him to find him staring with wide eyes, as if he didn’t quite believe what Enjolras was telling him.

“I am”, Enjolras nodded, looking – and sounding – serious. “I may not have always known I loved you, but I do, Grantaire. I love you. And I understand this may make you uncomfortable, but I’m tired of pretending I don’t have feelings for you, of, of pretending that your absence doesn’t kill me and that your loss would break me beyond repair”.

Grantaire watched him as he spoke, lips parted, a look of sheer adoration mixed with shock in his eyes. That look of blatant trust and made something blossom inside of Enjolras’ chest, and the sudden urgent need to tell Grantaire the whole truth made him choke on a knot in his throat. But he knew he couldn’t just spit out the whole truth on Grantaire’s face without possibly ruining everything they had (which, to be fair, wasn’t much).

“There’s so much I want to tell you”, Enjolras sighed, and in a surge of adrenaline, mustered the courage to reach for Grantaire’s hand and hold it. Grantaire, for one, didn’t pull away from the touch, but he stared at their intertwined hands as if Enjolras had just handed him a rough diamond. “There’s so much you need to know. I’m trying to be a better person than before, and I’m trying not to commit the same mistakes as I did before. You deserve happiness, and all the good things in the world, and foremost, you deserve to know everything I have to tell you”.

“You’re not making any sense”, Grantaire chuckled nervously, but Enjolras could see the hint of a frown between his eyes.

“I’ll tell you everything in due time”, Enjolras reassured, and he swore to god he was probably _crazy_ , he must have been, because he went so far as to intertwining his fingers with Grantaire’s and actually _kissing his knuckles_. “But you have to be patient with me. If we’re going to do this, I… I want to do everything right. No lies. No hiding. Just… Just us. But I can’t tell you everything at once”.

Grantaire eyed him for a long time, a flush raising to his pale cheeks. Enjolras merely watched him, their intertwined hands leaning against the leader’s chest.

“You seem to be very certain that I want to be in a relationship with you”, Grantaire finally said, and there was no way Enjolras’ face didn’t fall upon hearing that. Immediately, he dropped Grantaire’s hand, because of course _, of course_! Enjolras was such _a moron_! There he was, telling Grantaire that he wanted to be a better person, that he didn’t want to commit the same mistakes, and there he strolled, _assuming_ Grantaire’s feelings without asking once again in a way he knew the cynic hated, and being selfish to the point of just believing that Grantaire would want to be in a relationship with him. Enjolras was horrible. If anything, he deserved to be alone.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry”, he started, heart actually racing inside his chest. Despite his best efforts, tears raised to his eyes and he did his best to blink them away before Grantaire could notice them, because the last thing he ever wanted was to make Grantaire think that, on the top of everything, Enjolras was trying to emotionally manipulate him. “I’m sorry, Grantaire, this isn’t what I meant at all, I’m really sorry, I don’t want you to feel forced or obliged to do or feel anything, this was never my intention –“

“Enjolras”, Grantaire interrupted, and through the blurriness that came with the tears in his eyes, Enjolras hadn’t realized that Grantaire had been smiling. Now the cynic’s hands were on his shoulders, squeezing gently, and he was openly chuckling, but in a lighthearted manner, rather than a mocking one. Enjolras cut himself off, staring at Grantaire with a blushing face and a confused expression, eyes damp. Grantaire gave him one last gentle shake and coughed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just teasing you”, he explained, a grin so wide that it made Enjolras’ heart warm, despite of the meaning behind his words. “It’s ok, I’m teasing you, that’s all. Ok?”, he asked.

Enjolras’ face instantly scrunched up in a grimace and he playfully shoved Grantaire away on the bench, which only made the man laugh harder, throwing his head back in a way that made his curls bounce and giggling loudly in the way Enjolras loved.

“You idiot! You scared me!”, Enjolras protested, pretending to be more upset than he actually felt. “I thought…! I thought…!”, he trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

“What, you thought that I didn’t love you?”, Grantaire turned to him, his wide grin still splattered on his face. Enjolras huffed out an annoyed breath and pouted, looking away from the cynic. “Oh, c’mon, Enjolras. I don’t think I’d be able not to love you, even if I tried”.

The declaration somehow shifted the lighthearted moment they were sharing into something more profound, and Enjolras stared up at Grantaire with a look that could be called hopeful in his eyes. Grantaire stared back with parted lips and adoration, the same adoration that Enjolras could always be sure to find there no matter what, and that sometimes bothered him, because he wanted Grantaire to know that he wasn’t a god in a pedestal, but he was human, nothing more, and he made as much mistakes as the next person. He was sure that, with due time, he could make Grantaire come to understand that, because he had done it before. Except, this time, he would show that to Grantaire through love and honesty, and not with unveiled lies and tears on the eve of a tango contest. He would make Grantaire realize how worthy he was of Enjolras’ love, but right now, what he wanted to do the most was to kiss him and hold him in his arms as if there was no tomorrow. He leaned forward on the bench, where Grantaire was still chuckling to himself, and subtly approached him with a questioning smile on his lips. He didn’t want to pressure Grantaire into doing anything he didn’t want to, but this way, he was showing the cynic that, should he want to kiss Enjolras, Enjolras was just as willing as he was.

Laughter once more died down on Grantaire’s lips to give place to a dumbfounded look, as he realized Enjolras’ intentions. His eyes ran from Enjolras’ green ones to his rosy lips and then back to his eyes, as if trying to read them for any sign of permission. Enjolras’ smile only grew wider and warmer and he leaned forwards to place a gentle quick kiss at the tip of Grantaire’s nose, which he knew was the feature Grantaire hated the most about himself. Grantaire blushed at this, but stayed still, lids fluttering close and eyelashes batting together like the wings of a hummingbird. Enjolras placed another kiss, this time more firm, on the bridge of Grantaire’s nose, and on his cheekbone, and on his forehead, and on the line of his jaw, and on his chin, and finally on the corner of his lips. Grantaire was trembling, Enjolras could see, but his face looked relaxed and peaceful, albeit red from embarrassment. He opened his eyes when Enjolras didn’t kiss him on the lips, and noticed that this time, it was Enjolras asking for his permission, and not the other way around. And in the blink of an eye, their lips met, stuffed rosy lips meeting pale dry ones in a gentle kiss that was more vivid and more heartfelt than any other kiss he had ever shared with Grantaire before.

It was gentle and sweet, their heads turning to accommodate each other’s mouths perfectly, and soon, Grantaire’s hand was on Enjolras’ hip, pulling him closer to himself until Enjolras was halfway sat on his lap, and Enjolras’ arms were flailing desperately for support, settling for intertwining themselves around Grantaire’s neck in the end. After they broke the kiss, they stayed like that for a few moments, just breathing each other’s scent in and enjoying their mutual warmth. Enjolras’ forehead was glued to Grantaire’s and they both had dumb smiles on their lips as they finally, _finally_ held each other close after so much suffering.

“It won’t be easy”, Grantaire said after a while, a sad tone in his voice. Enjolras opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look deeply into Grantaire’s. “I won’t always agree with you”, he explained, as if he was trying to give Enjolras a chance to get out of this while he still could.

“When have you ever?”, Enjolras jested, which earned a chuckle from both of them. “I don’t expect you to”, he added, more seriously, but still smiling at the man holding him. “In fact, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. My cynic”, he said, kissing Grantaire’s forehead tenderly.

“God”, Grantaire whispered, closing his eyes. “This must be a dream”.

“It’s not”, Enjolras reassured, running his fingers through Grantaire’s curls. “I promise”.

“How can this possibly be real?”, Grantaire asked, but beneath his joking tone, Enjolras could detect legitimate doubt.

“I’ll prove to you”, Enjolras pulled back and hopped off Grantaire’s lap, sitting back on the bench. “I’ll prove to you how much I love you, if you give me the chance”.

Grantaire’s uncertain smile widened at this, and he looked at Enjolras as if he was the most precious thing he had ever seen in his life.

“Of course I’ll give you the chance. I love –“, he started, but then trailed off. Enjolras frowned.

Grantaire’s eyes became glossy and distant, an almost pained frown between his eyebrows. His grip on Enjolras’ hand became slack and he seemed to be frozen on the spot.

_Oh my god, what’s happening?_ , Enjolras thought.

“Grantaire?”, he asked frantically, heart leaping inside his chest and starting to race painfully. What was going on? Was Grantaire being taken away from him again? Was he dying? What was happening?! “Grantaire, answer me!”, Enjolras urged nervously, shaking the man by the shoulders as if to earn some sort of response.

“Is that a drowning puppy?”, Grantaire immediately responded, getting to his feet as if to try and take a better look inside the river. Enjolras blinked in sheer confusion for a few seconds, taking in deep breaths to attempt to calm himself before standing up and following Grantaire’s line of sight. Indeed, near the river’s shore, there seemed to be a struggling form attempting – and failing – to swim its way to the edge. Enjolras’ heart was struck with a twinge of guilt upon realizing that, in those two weeks, he had barely even wondered what had become of Brownie.

“Shit”, Grantaire continued, immediately removing his shirt and dropping it to the floor. “That is a drowning puppy”, he stated, before sprinting off towards the river.

“Wait!”, Enjolras yelled, chasing after Grantaire and trying to remove his own shirt as he ran. “Wait, I’m coming with you!”

“Like hell I’ll let you dive into a freezing river water to save a puppy when I can do it myself, stay back and don’t do anything stupid”, Grantaire instructed, but just as he got in position to dive in, Enjolras held him back.

“Too bad you’re my boyfriend, not my owner to give me orders. I’m coming with you”, Enjolras protested, looking at Grantaire deep in the eye as he spoke.

“Enjolras, you barely even got out of a hospital!”, Grantaire protested, due to the lack of anything else to say.

“You can’t always take a bullet for me, Grantaire, and I can’t always take one for you”, Enjolras said seriously. “If we truly love each other and want our relationship to work, we’ll have to learn how to trust each other enough to do things together, rather than taking each other’s place”, he said, taking Grantaire’s hand into his and squeezing it. Grantaire looked uncertain. “I understand how hard this is to you”, Enjolras added. “But there is a puppy drowning over there and, since I love you enough to want to spend the rest of my life with you, I guess we’ll have plenty of time to discuss this at a more opportune moment. Just let me do this. Let me be there for you”, he asked, sincerity flooding his tone and showing in his eyes. Grantaire studied him for what seemed like an eternity – which, honestly, was more than they had the luxury to spare, since Brownie was still struggling against the river water – before finally taking Enjolras’ other hand and squeezing it gently. He nodded, placing a quick kiss on Enjolras lips, before asking:

“Together?”

“Together”, Enjolras smiled, and then, side by side, they dove into the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first of all, I know, I KNOW, I took forever to update this chapter and I'm sorry. These past months haven't exactly been easy on my and that added to college and depression made me almost decide to quit on this story. But c'mon, how could I possibly abandon Together when I receive such amazing comments from my readers? You guys were (and still are) what kept me going through my worst writer's block and there harsh few months so thank you so much. I want you all to know that I have read and reread every single comment you left on the story, and the only reason why I didn't answer was due to lack of time. Hopefully, things will get better soon.  
> Thank you so much for putting up with me for so long and I hope you liked this ending! As usual, kudos and comments are HUGELY appreciated, and you can stay tuned for more angsty exr stories that are yet to come!  
> I love you all so much ❤

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, thank you so much for reading this!  
> As usual, kudos and comments are very much appreciated, and so is constructive criticism!  
> You can always find me on [tumblr](edema--ruh.tumblr.com) and on [ twitter](twitter.com/prouvvaire).  
> Add me on snapchat if you want to see the progress of my writing! You can find me there as emyholmes .


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